


The White Wolf and the Lion Cub

by blue_calico



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Roach, and a healthy dose of jaskier-isms, and jaskiers lute, ciri is still sort of traumatized, geralt learns what feelings are, jaskier tags along on their way to kaer morhen, now at kaer morhen, so do nightmares, training ciri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 95,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_calico/pseuds/blue_calico
Summary: Ciri knew Geralt felt bad about making them sleep in the forest each night, hidden away from any roads or signs of other travelers. But it was their only choice. Nilfgaard was close, and she didn't forget her grandmother's words.Keep moving.--Ciri and Geralt learn how much they've needed each other while hiding from Nilfgaard. Now at Kaer Morhen.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 190
Kudos: 471





	1. The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for clicking on this story! Comments/kudos/subscriptions always appreciated!

They had been riding for nearly three days and Ciri felt almost as unkempt as she did in the village where Zola had found her. The harsh winds had whipped and tangled her hair, and a thin layer of grime still managed to stick to her skin even as the rain soaked her face.

Geralt had tucked her under his cloak when the sky grew dark and the cold winds started up several hours ago. Though the pouring rain still soaked through to her skin and the extra layer hadn't kept out much of the wind's bite - or the cold, if she was being honest. She tried not to shiver as an especially strong gust blew against her side, but her body still tensed. She felt Geralt pull her closer against his chest as they continued down the road on Roach.

Ciri knew Geralt felt bad about making them sleep in the forest each night, hidden away from any roads or signs of other travelers. But it was their only choice. Nilfgaard was close, and she didn't forget her grandmother's words.

_Keep moving._

Geralt was buying food from a stall in a village square three days ago when Ciri had spotted a small group of Nilfgaardian soldiers tying up their horses outside of an inn. Her stomach had dropped and she tugged on Geralt's arm. He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow but quickly shoved a few coins into the merchant's hand when he saw them, lifted Ciri onto Roach's saddle before climbing on behind her, and rode out of town as quickly as they came.

Ciri felt her gut tighten when she thought of their swords swinging from their waist; of their swords slitting the throats of her people on that horrible night.

The wind picked up and the cold air shot down her throat when she sucked in a breath. She couldn't keep down the cough itching at the back of her throat after. Or the several that followed.

"We'll stop here," Geralt said a few moments later. Ciri looked up at him.

"But it's still light out."

Geralt tugged Roach's reins and veered off the road, heading toward a small cave that was just peaking out from behind the brush. "It will be dark soon," he said with a grunt. "And I need to hunt."

Ciri nodded. They were low on food and she was starting to grow hungry. Though she wished they'd keep going. The soldiers could be close.

Geralt slid off Roach and gently lifted Ciri onto the ground. She walked into the dark cave with Geralt guiding Roach in front of her, peering out from behind Geralt's form and into the darkness to try to see just how deep it was. She didn't like the idea of surviving the fall of Cintra just to get eaten by a wild cat.

"Don't worry, there's nothing in here," Geralt said as he tied Roach's reins to a jagged rock near the edge of the cave.

"How do you kn-," Ciri paused, looking into his golden eyes. "You can see in the dark, can't you?"

Geralt looked back at her with a small smirk. "What makes you think that?"

"You can't have golden eyes and not be able to do something cool with them," she said matter of factly. "It would be a waste."

He responded with a short and slightly amused "Hmm." Ciri noticed he used that response a lot - oftentimes more than he actually spoke.

She grabbed her hair and twisted the water from it, watching as it dripped onto the ground, then pulled off her sodden cloak and wrung it with her hands. It wasn't nearly as fine as the satin blue cloak she had left Zola with as a thank you gift. The woman had insisted that she couldn't take it, that it was too fine a gift. As much as Ciri didn't want to part with it, she knew it was a dead give away that she was high born and she wanted to keep as low a profile as possible.

Ciri hung her brown woolen cloak on a nearby rock to dry and shivered when the cool air in the cave reached her skin.

"Here," Geralt tossed a pile of clothes to her. "They'll be a bit big, but it's better than freezing."

He turned his back to her and started digging through their other pack. She held up his extra shirt and pair of trousers (a bit big, indeed) and quickly undressed. She had to tie a knot in the waist of the pants to keep them from falling down.

Geralt was kneeling on the ground still facing away from her when she was done hanging up her soaked dress. She watched him move his finger in a sign, and a pile of dry brush and sticks that he'd gathered from along the edges of the cave suddenly ignited into small flames. Ciri quickly sat down across from Geralt and basked in the warmth.

"I need to get better at starting those," Ciri said, nodding toward the fire. "When I was out in the woods it must have taken me a half hour to get a flame going, if at all."

Geralt gave another "hmm," this time with no amusement in his tone. She hasn't brought up her time alone after escaping Cintra much, but she noticed he grew a bit sullen whenever she did.

He poked at the burning brush with a stick to help the flames grow, throwing it into the fire once he was done with it. Ciri watched Geralt sit back and stare into the flames. She spoke up again after a moment.

"What's Kaer Mohren like? My tutors never mentioned it and I haven't ever seen it on a map."

Geralt looked up at her and shifted his legs out from under him so he was sitting fully on the ground. He had told her they were going there the day before yesterday, after he decided that was the safest, and only, place for them to go with winter setting in and an army on their tail. But in typical-Geralt fashion, he hadn't given her any more details about it other than "It's where I was raised."

"It's a large keep at the top of the mountain. Cold, windy, in need of repair in most parts. We don't tell anyone where it is," he said. Ciri straightened up and looked at him with rapt attention, which pushed him to speak more. "Not many witchers still call it home and even fewer still spend the winter. Though I'm sure Vesemir will be there still when we arrive."

"Who's Vesemir?" she asked.

"He's...," Geralt paused. Ciri wasn't sure if it was because he didn't know how to describe the man or because he didn't want to. "He raised me and the other witchers in my school," he said after a moment. Her eyes lit up.

"Witchers have schools? What kind of stuff do you learn at them?"

"How to make the potions we use, how to fight. Though Vesemir always focused most on teaching us about monsters," he said.

Ciri nodded at that. "Makes sense. Grandmother always said knowing your enemy's weaknesses is what beats them in battle. Not steel," she said. After a moment of pause, she continued. "Would Vesemir ever train a girl to be a witcher?"

Geralt returned his gaze back down to the fire. Ciri noticed how serious he looked.

"You don't want to be a witcher. It's no life for a princess," he said.

"I don't know about that," she said quietly and pulled her knees against her chest. "You wouldn't want to be a princess."

"No. The dresses wouldn't look quite right," he said, some of the seriousness draining away. Ciri let out a laugh, one of the first real laughs she's had in a while. Geralt's lips pulled into a small smile when she did.

"No, they definitely wouldn't. Neither would the tiara," she said, her smile ebbing away. "Nor what comes with it."

She saw Geralt look back up at her out of the corner of her eye but she kept her gaze firmly on the ground.

"I'm sorry about what happened to Cintra," he said after a moment. "To your grandmother."

Ciri felt tears start to well in her eyes. Imagining her grandmother's sweaty, dirt-stained, grieving face as the smell of smoke and fear filled the air was both numbing and gut wrenching at the same time. She didn't want to think about what happened, much less talk about it. Not yet.

She took a deep breath and pushed down the lump in her throat, which turned into a strained cough she couldn't suppress. She coughed again, sounding wheezy as several more followed.

Geralt stood up and moved in front of her. He knelt down and placed a cool hand on her forehead, frowning when he felt damp, burning skin.

"We need to get you to an inn," he sighed, removing his hand. Ciri felt panic rise in her chest. An inn meant being surrounded by strangers, and strangers meant there was a better chance of her being found by the feathered knight.

"I feel fine. It's just the... pollen in the air or something," she said. "Or maybe a small cold."

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "You don't get a fever from pollen. Or a cold. You need real shelter and food," he continued, putting his hand on her forehead again. "Maybe a healer, too."

Ciri's heart froze.

"No! It's OK, I'm fine- really," she said. Her body betrayed her when she suddenly started coughing again. She spoke softly after the coughs stopped, the lump rising in her throat again as she looked pleadingly into Geralt's golden eyes. "We can't go to an inn. It's not _safe_."

Geralt put a large but gentle hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes.

"If I'm with you, you'll be safe. I promise."

The conviction in his voice helped loosen the knot in her chest a bit. Slowly, she realized that she had felt more safe in one week with Geralt than she had in the Cintran castle guarded by 200 soldiers and her fierce grandmother.

"Alright," she said.

Geralt nodded. "We'll ride to the next town tomorrow."

He stood and walked over to Roach, pulling out a thin but dry blanket from her leather saddle bag. Geralt walked back over to Ciri and draped it over her shoulders.

"I'm going to hunt some dinner. Get some rest," he said. Ciri nodded and laid down against the cool ground. She watched him leave the cave with his sword before shutting her eyes.


	2. The Inn

Ciri took a deep breath when the village come into view. It wasn't the busiest or largest village she'd seen outside of Cintra; the buildings were mostly one story and far enough apart that it didn't feel claustrophobic, and only a few market stalls lined the village square. But the sight of people milling through the streets as the sun started to set made the knot in her gut clench tighter.

Geralt stopped Roach when they reached a stable at the start of the village and lifted Ciri from the saddle.

"Keep your hood up and eyes down," he said as he pulled their two packs off of Roach's saddle. She nodded and ducked her head when she saw a stable boy hop down from his perch on one of the stall doors.

"I'll take the horse, sir," he said, reaching for Roach's reins. The boy jumped back when Roach snorted and stomped at the ground warningly. Without a word or even looking at the boy, Geralt guided her into an open stall, tied her reins to the post, and pulled a pouch of coins from the larger of the two bags.

"Make sure she's fed and watered," he grunted and dropped several coins into the boy's hand. "I'll know if you're skimpy with the hay."

Ciri was pretty sure she heard the boy gulp before Geralt turned back around.

Geralt picked up the two packs with one hand and walked outside the barn, dim sunlight hitting the wide hood that hid his white hair. Ciri quickly fell in step behind him as he started down the street, coughing slightly every time a passing cart sent dirt swirling around them. Her throat was burning and she felt slightly more light headed with each step.

She had woken up feeling worse that morning, both sweating and shivering under the blankets Geralt had thrown over her the night before. The trout he'd caught for their breakfast helped quell her churning stomach and made her head spin less, but she still felt tired and feverish as the day went on. She didn't know how many times she had dozed off against Geralt's chest as they rode.

Ciri moved closer to Geralt when she saw several men look over at them out of the corner of her eye. They weren't carrying weapons and didn't seem too interested in them, but she was still relieved that Geralt had kept a hand on the hilt of his sword as they walked. It wasn't noticeable- the steel just barely poked out from under his cloak. But he was ready in case he'd need to fight.

She could hear chatter and laughter and looked up at an inn they were approaching. Several horses were tied to posts under one of the inn's large windows and two women were giggling against a man near the doorway. Geralt, without removing his hood, stomped up the few steps and opened the door.

Immediately, the smell of roasting meat and sweet deserts wafted into her nose and her mouth started to water. She lifted her head and stared at a tray of food that a waitress carried by her. She didn't mind going without a real bed on the road, but she had missed the taste of something other than chewy fish, charred crow, or whatever else Geralt had caught for their meals. As she looked longingly at the tray, she noticed another group of men staring at them. This time, they were armed. This time, they were looking at them with grins that didn't seem friendly.

Geralt must have seen them, too. He straightened up and squared his shoulders, making himself look even more broad and intimidating as the men approached them.

"Stay behind me," he said quietly to Ciri. The men stopped in front of them.

"Looks like we've got a new face passing through Genek, lads. Haven't seen a brute like this since Kellum left for Ebbing," one of the men said with a laugh. He was tall- though not as tall as Geralt- and fairly well built. He carried a cup of ale in one meaty hand and was gripping the hilt of his sword with another. So did the three men who trailed behind him.

"Hmm," Geralt grunted. He went to move past them but the man put up a hand.

"See 'ere, brute. We like to get to know who's coming through our village," the man said, still wearing a smile that didn't quite reach his sharp eyes. "What's your business 'ere?"

"Food and a room for the night," Geralt said in his low, gravelly voice. "I'll be gone in the morning."

The man shook his head.

"Doubtful of that. How am I to know you won't steal poor Arnolt's crops-" he nodded toward a lanky man standing behind him. "- or Raeher's wife?" he gestured to the stocky man next to him.

"I have no interest in anything of yours. Just the meal and bed you're keeping me from," Geralt said. The lanky man, Arnolt, stepped forward.

"I'm sure you're eager to get to bed, with that pretty thing behind you," he said with a chuckle. Ciri's heart started pounding against her ribs and Geralt tensed in front of her. "Caught a peak of her face when you came in. Wouldn't mind seein' what's under that cloak. Share her with us after you're done and we'll leave you be."

Geralt moved forward and nudged back his cloak so the men could see his sword and the front of his armor.

"Step. Back," he growled. Ciri felt a shiver travel down her spine.

"Seems like we'll have to show him what real hospitality is-" the first man started but was cut off by one of his friends.

"Wait! The wolf medallion, golden eyes - I know who you are. You're the Butcher of Blavikan," the man spat. The tavern was quiet now and all eyes were on them. Ciri stared at Geralt, the name butcher rolling around in her mind.

"You cut down my grandfather and other innocent men in the streets of Blavikan years ago," the man continued. "You split them open and gutted them in broad daylight like a monster!" he yelled and unsheathed his sword. Geralt and the others did the same, but just as the man went to raise it, a deep voice rang out from behind the bar.

"Petyr! What did I say about stirring up trouble in my tavern?" a round man with a graying beard yelled. The first man immediately spun toward him and lowered his sword.

"We're not stirring up trouble, Velemer. Just showing this beast out," Petyr said and pointed his sword at Geralt.

Velemer looked Geralt up and down, his eyes stopping on Geralt's medallion.

"Butcher or not, he saved my boy from a kikimora a few winters back. He's welcome here," Velemer said, looking back at Petyr. "If you don't like that you can bloody well leave. And put away you're damn swords. You look like little girls playing soldiers."

Petyr scowled at Velemer, then at Geralt, and stomped toward the door. The man who had called him Butcher stopped and looked back at Geralt before he left.

"Burn in hell," he spat. The door shook the wall when he slammed it shut. Velemer shook his head.

"Sorry 'bout that. Those lads have gotten cocky since they fought off some Niflgaardian soldiers a few weeks back," Velemer said as he wiped down a mug. "Can I get you anything?"

"A room, two dinners, ale, and water," Geralt said and put a some coins on the counter. He glanced over at Ciri and placed another coin on the counter. "And a bath."

Velemer looked down at Ciri and nodded before shouting the order at an older woman behind the counter.

"This your daughter?" he asked. Geralt shook his head.

"Her parents were killed by an alghoul. I'm bringing her to her uncle's in the south." Ciri looked down sadly, trying to help convince the man of Geralt's story. It seemed to work.

"Poor lass. Looks like she needs some rest. Take the third room on the left and I'll have your dinner brought up to you," Velemer pointed toward the stairs. He turned to the woman he had barked orders at a moment ago and sighed when she was still standing behind the counter, staring at Geralt with fear and disgust. "Dammit woman, are you deaf? Get to it!"

The woman frowned at Velemer and started filling a mug with ale.

"Sorry 'bout my wife," he turned back to Geralt. "She doesn't like non-humans."

"I remember. She pointed a knife at me when I brought your boy back," Geralt said. Ciri thought he almost sounded amused.

Velemer handed Geralt the mugs of ale and water before heading toward the kitchen. Geralt walked to the back of the tavern where the stairs were and Ciri kept her eyes firmly on his back as she followed him, avoiding the patrons' weary gazes. She was feeling lightheaded again by the time they reached the top of the stairs and was relieved when she plopped down on the giant bed after Geralt had opened the door.

The room wasn't large, but Ciri thought it was cozy. A fire was already burning in the fireplace and flickering light danced on the plaster walls. The bed was large and a comfy looking chair was nestled next to the window. A bath sat in the corner behind a screen near the door. The walls had scuff marks on them and the floor was creaky, but it was nice. It felt lived in.

Geralt set down the packs next to the chair and took off his sheath, leaning his swords against the wall next to him. They both undid their cloaks and hung them on a peg near the fireplace. Ciri was undoing her shoes when a knock rang on the door. She stiffened and looked over at Geralt. He got up and opened it.

"I have your dinner, sir," said a girl who wasn't much older than Ciri. Geralt nodded and the girl placed the tray on the small table next to the bed. "I'll bring up some water for the bath," she said before leaving.

Ciri took one of the plates and bit into a leg of mutton, glad she still had an appetite despite not feeling well. Geralt did the same. They ate in silence as the girl returned several times and filled the tub with buckets of water. After Ciri had dabbed her bread on the plate to pick up the last little bits of food and shoved it in her mouth, she set the plate on the table and looked over at Geralt.

"You can go first. I don't mind waiting," Ciri said, nodding toward the bath.

"Go ahead. It takes me a while to get out of this armor," he said. She quirked an eyebrow.

"I saw you take it off in less than two minutes two nights ago."

"Guess I'm feeling old and tired today," he said with a small shrug. "Go on, before it gets cold."

Ciri shook her head with a small smile and walked over to her pack. She pulled out a simple cotton nightgown and comb Zola had given her and walked behind the screen. She quickly took off her dress and settled into the warm water. Her nerves were still on edge from being here so close to other people, and the scene with the men downstairs did little to calm them, but getting to wash the dirt off her skin and soak in the warmth was nice.

After she had rubbed her skin clean and finished brushing out the tangles in her hair, she tied her hair back, threw on the nightgown, and crossed the room to the bed. Geralt stood up after she had climbed under the covers and sat down next to her on the edge of the mattress.

"How are you feeling?" he said, placing a hand on her forehead. Ciri could tell it was still warmer than he'd like by the way he furrowed his eyebrows.

"Better now that I've eaten. That mutton was good," Ciri said through a yawn. "I don't usually like mutton."

"No?"

"When I was little, a really old sheep would follow me around when I would go play in the pens near the kitchens. He moved so slowly and I'm pretty sure he was blind in one eye, but he was the only one in his flock that ever really wanted my attention," Ciri said, pausing to cough. "One day he wasn't there. The butcher said they needed him for a feast. It broke my heart and I still don't like to eat anything from sheep because of it. But I guess it's funny in a way."

"How so?" Geralt asked.

"I'd named him Mutton."

Geralt smiled and laughed at this. So did Ciri. She liked seeing some of the sternness leave his face, even if only for a moment. After they both grew quiet and the cracking of the logs of the fire was the only sound that filled the room, Ciri spoke again.

"Geralt?" she said, looking into his golden eyes. "That man... he said you butchered innocent men. Is that true?"

The witcher sighed as he looked down at Ciri, flickering light from the fire bouncing against his white hair and pale skin.

"They were going to slaughter people if the town's sorcerer didn't come out of hiding," he said and shifted his gaze to the wall. "The woman who led them and the sorcerer both wanted me to kill the other. I didn't want to get involved, but her men attacked. The villagers thought I'd slaughtered them once it was over. One knew that wasn't true - she'd had a knife held to her throat. But she still watched on as the others ran me out of town."

Ciri furrowed her brows and felt anger bubble in her chest. "Why didn't she speak up and defend you? You saved her life!"

Geralt was quiet for a moment.

"Because most people think witchers are monsters," he said, his eyes meeting hers.

Ciri thought of Nilfgaard slaying innocent people and the Cintran woman who forced a dwarf to give her his shoes. She thought of the boys she used to play knucklebones with grabbing at her in the forest. By human standards, Geralt was anything but.

"I don't think you are," she said quietly. A smile so small that it almost wasn't noticeable pulled at Geralt's lips.

"I'm glad," Geralt said as he stood and pulled the blankets up to Ciri's shoulders. "Destiny would have a fucked up sense of humor if it stuck me with someone who did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More words from Geralt than usual! Kudos, comment, and subscribe for more!


	3. The Dream

Ciri always got lost in her dreams. She felt the rough bark of every tree she climbed while she slept and never missed the sun's warmth on the top of her head and tip of her nose when she ran through imaginary fields sprinkled with flowers. It always felt like she was stepping through a portal when she dreamed. Every one felt so real, like it was just another world she was visiting while hers slept.

And she never forgot the dreams after she woke up. Not the good, and not the bad.

Ciri was walking through the grand ballroom of the Cintran palace in a velvet green dress in this dream. Warm light poured from the many golden chandeliers that dripped from the high ceilings and glimmered against the lord's and ladies's fine jewels. Guests danced as the band played an upbeat jig, the women's skirts swirling with each step and the bard's voice ringing out over the noise of the party.

The guests bowed or dipped their heads as she walked by. Many were members of her grandmother's court that she had known since she was small. Some faces were new, but she still sent them a small smile. Her grin grew wide when she saw her grandparents standing next to the grand table at the front of the hall. Both were dressed in fine golden silks and smiled back at her.

The music grew louder and more exciting with each step she took. Just as she neared her grandparents, she felt a light tap on her shoulder and she turned around. A boy who was about her age reached out his hand with a bashful grin on his face and flashed his eyes toward the group of guests dancing in the middle of the room.

She turned back to her grandparents and they both nodded their heads, still smiling. She took the boy's hand, letting him lead her to the dance.

It didn't take long for her to start laughing like the people she danced beside. Her feet fell in step with the music and small beads of sweat formed at her brow as she skipped between partners. She felt like she was floating, her heart was so filled with joy.

As she was swung from elbow to elbow, she caught the pale blue eyes of the bard who was leading the band. He sent her a wink and his smile widened as he sang, his pleasant voice floating around hall.

The song was getting faster and so was the dance. She lost count of how many different partners she had switched from during the song. Finally, with the music ending in a climatic burst, the dance suddenly stopped.

Still grinning and softly panting, she looked up at the man who had caught her in his arms. Her heart sunk to her stomach when she saw the feather plume sticking up from his helmet.

"Hello, Princess Cirilla."

Ciri went to scream but the Feathered Knight clasped a large hand over her mouth and pinned her against him with his other arm. She looked over at her grandmother with pleading eyes.

Calanthe slowly walked toward her, the smile she had worn before fading with each step. The guests had move back against the walls and watched on silently. She finally stopped in front of Ciri and clasped her chin.

"You didn't listen to me," she said with a frown. "You stopped moving."

Ciri felt a tear run down her cheek, her chest aching like it was going to burst when her grandmother stepped back. She clawed at the Feathered Knight's hand at her mouth when she felt him wrap his other arm tighter around her waist and start to pull her toward the hall's doors. No one in the hall moved to help her. Not the guests, not her grandmother's soldiers, and not her grandmother. They all looked on with frowns pulling at their lips as the Feathered Knight dragged her from the room.

She tried to kick him and break free but nothing worked- his grip was too strong. He pulled open the door and yanked her into a pitch black hallway. She watched the sliver of light coming from the grand hall grow smaller and smaller as they moved farther into the darkness. Her mouth went dry when the door closed with a loud bang and the light was completely gone.

Ciri's eyes flashed open and she let out haggard breaths as she looked around her. She was laying in the bed at the inn, her nightgown sticking to her sweat-drenched body.

Her breath hitched when she saw a large man standing over the bed.

"Are you alright?" Geralt asked with a concerned look.

 _Right,_ Ciri thought. _It's Geralt. Just Geralt._

"Yes... just a bad dream," she said, wiping sweat from her brow with her sleeve. "What time is it?"

"Nearly noon. Maybe later," he said.

Ciri's eyes widened and she threw the covers off her. How had she slept this late? They should have been on the road hours ago.

She quickly crossed the room and pulled her dress from one of their bags. She went to move behind the screen to change but Geralt stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"You don't need to rush, we can stay a bit longer-"

"No!" Ciri said, shaking her head and turning back around to face him. "We should get moving- It's safer that way. Sorry I slept so long."

Geralt stared at her uncertainly for a moment. "You needed the rest. Feel any better?"

Ciri realized her throat didn't hurt as much as it had the day before and her head felt more clear. Well, apart from the images of her grandmother and the Feathered Knight swirling through her mind.

"Yes," she said. Geralt nodded and let go of her shoulder.

"Good. We'll have lunch before we go," he said. She moved behind the screen and changed as quickly as she could, not wanting to stay here any longer than they had to.

Ciri finished pulling on her boots and stepped out from behind the screen. Geralt was still putting on his armor. Feeling antsy and claustrophobic in the room, she pulled on her cloak and opened the door.

"Just seeing how busy it is downstairs," she told Geralt over her shoulder. He replied with a "hmm" as he tugged a piece of armor over his shoulder.

Ciri stepped into the hall, leaving the door open, and peered into the tavern below. It was quite empty, save for the few people sitting at the tables and a man in an expensive but worn-out looking silk doublet and pants smiling at Velemer's wife.

She knelt down and peered at the man through the railings that lined the open hallway. Velemer's wife looked more disgruntled with each word he spoke to her, though the man's smile was bright and kind.

"If you don't got any money, get out of 'ere!" she yelled, pointing a pan at him. The man's smile didn't falter.

"What about a meal in exchange for some entertainment for your fine guests?" he said, gesturing to haggard looking old woman next to the door. She scowled at him. "I'm sure a song and some cheer would encourage them to shed their coin faster!"

Velemer's wife put a hand on her hip. Ciri was pretty sure she saw her nostrils flare as her lips pressed tightly together.

"Right, fine. How about a quick preview?" he said, launching into song before she could protest again. "Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger-"

Ciri's brows furrowed when she heard him sing. It sounded familiar.

The man flashed his eyes up toward the ceiling as he started to sing the song's chorus. Ciri saw how blue they were and her breath caught in her throat.

It was the bard from her dream and, she suddenly realized, the bard who had played at every one of her birthday feasts that she could remember. 

"Ciri, why are you-" she heard Geralt say as he walked out of the room. She looked up at him and saw him staring at the bard. He almost looked nervous. 

"Fuck." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely feedback! Expect another chapter this weekend :)


	4. The Bard

Ciri looked between Geralt and the bard, who was still singing to Velemer's wife and ignoring the angry scowl growing on her face. He seemed like he didn't have a care in the world as he sang, yet it made Geralt freeze - something Ciri definitely hadn't seen before.

It was unnerving.

"Geralt, what's wrong?" she asked softly.

"Stay here," he said, his gaze still firmly set on the bard. Ciri stayed kneeling on the ground against the railing and watched as the witcher walked down the stairs.

The bard had his back to Geralt when he reached the first floor of the inn, but Geralt didn't try to get his attention. He just stood still and listened to the song until the woman finally cut the bard off.

"I'm not saying it again. If you ain't got coin, get out!" she shouted and pointed to the door with a bony finger. The bard turned back around - probably to sweetly plead once more, Ciri guessed - when he saw Geralt. His grin immediately disappeared.

"No problem. Looks like your tavern has _plenty_ of cheer already," he drawled and started toward the door. Geralt froze again.

Ciri jumped up and sprinted down the stairs. She recognized his face, but didn't really know him. She couldn't even remember his name. But after he had appeared in her dream and made Geralt look so uncertain, she had to find out.

"Wait!" she called out, coming to a stop between him and Geralt. The bard turned back to them and his eyes widened when he saw her. He looked like he was about to speak when Ciri quickly walked over to the bar and pulled several coins Geralt had given her to use in case of an emergency from her pocket and set them on the counter. "We'll pay for his lunch," she said to Velemer's wife.

"Fine. As long as he doesn't keep on with his screeching," she said, rolling her eyes. That seemed to snap the bard out of his daze a bit.

"My voice is revered around the continent, thank you very much," he murmured and looked around the inn.

Ciri saw an empty table tucked in the far corner of the room. She walked back to them, stopping next to Geralt, and smiled softly at the bard.

"We're going to eat before we leave. Would you join us?"

The bard was still frowning while he looked at Geralt, but he managed to give a small, forced smile when his gaze flickered to Ciri.

"Alright."

Ciri grinned and pulled Geralt toward the table with the bard behind them. She slipped into the seat against the wall and Geralt sat down next to her, still looking incredibly stiff. The bard plopped down in the chair across from him. Even when he was annoyed, Ciri noticed he still had a light air about him.

Both men were avoiding the other's gaze in uncomfortable silence. Ciri shifted in her seat.

"I'm sorry to say, but I don't remember your name," she said. Geralt looked at her with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you can just call me Jaskier," he smiled at her. "Or, if you're like this one, a growl will suffice."

Ciri let out a short laugh.

"Jaskier is fine," she paused when a barmaid brought them their food and drink. The stew smelled _good._ "How do you and Geralt know each other?" she asked before dipping her bread into the broth and shoving it into her mouth.

"We traveled together on and off over the years. Though I'm sure he didn't tell you about _that_ ," he grumbled and bit into his bread.

Geralt set down his spoon. "We've only been together a week," he said, still looking down at the table. "Not much time for stories."

"Ahh, he finally speaks." Jaskier threw up a hand and turned to Ciri. "Are these the first words he's uttered all day? Because anything more would make him uncharacteristically chatty."

"Hmm," Geralt grunted quietly.

Jaskier let out a bitter laugh. "And there's the period to his sentence. I'm sorry you've had to endure his overbearing broodiness, Cir-" he started before Ciri quickly cut him off.

"Fiona."

He nodded.

"Right - Fiona. Smart girl," Jaskier smiled before looking at Geralt. There wasn't much light in the tavern other than the sun that trickled in from the windows, but his blue eyes looked incredibly bright. And filled with hurt, Ciri thought.

"At least he'll keep you safe, Fiona. That's one thing he's good at," he sighed and turned his gaze back to her. "I'm glad to see you're alright. I've heard quite a lot about you recently."

Ciri felt her gut start to clench again.

"What do you mean?" Geralt asked before she could. Jaskier seemed a bit surprised the witcher spoke again, but he answered the question.

"Nilfgaard's offering a reward to anyone who can tell them where the princess of Cintra is. Or the silver-haired witcher she might be traveling with," Jaskier said, looking mostly at Ciri. "Their soldiers have been going around the country side looking for you, from what I hear. I saw some of them when I was performing in an inn yesterday eve. It wasn't too far from here."

Ciri stiffened. How did they know she was with Geralt?

"We should go," Geralt looked down at her. She nodded and they stayed silent for a moment.

"Right, well, it was nice seeing you, Fiona," Jaskier said and stood up, slinging the strap to his lute case over his shoulder. He started to walk away when Geralt called out to him.

"Jaskier, wait," he said. Jaskier turned back to them, golden eyes meeting blue for the first time since they sat down. "We should talk."

Ciri saw the bard swallow hard. His lips were pursed and his eyes were set steadily on Geralt. She couldn't tell if they were glimmering with sadness or anger.

"Geralt-"

He was cut off when the door burst open and slammed into the wall with a bang, making Ciri jump. The group of men from the night before sauntered into the tavern with their swords drawn and eyes searching around the room.

"There they are!"

Geralt shot up from the table and unsheathed one of his swords. Ciri was glad he had grabbed them and finished putting his armor on before he left their room earlier. She pushed the chair out from under her.

"Who'd you manage to piss off now, Geralt?" Jaskier said and quickly stepped back behind the witcher.

"A bunch of creeps," Ciri muttered. Jaskier let out a small snort. Whatever trace of an amused smile that was on his face quickly wiped away when the men stopped in front of them.

"Witcher! Glad to see you. We have a proposition for you," the man at the front said. Petyr, Ciri remembered.

"I'm not taking any contracts, if that's what you're asking," Geralt said.

Petyr smiled. Ciri hated his smile.

"No, I had another thing in mind," Petyr said. "We just spoke with some Nilfgaard soldiers who said they were looking for a Cintran princess. They're paying a pretty penny for her, too," he said, looking at Ciri. She felt Jaskier move slightly closer to her.

"I heard you fought off Nilfgaard soldiers not long ago," Geralt said. "Why the sudden change of heart toward them?"

"The reward they're offering," Petyr shrugged. "No sane man would turn down coin like that in times like these. Hand her over to us and we'll give you some of the reward. I know witchers do a lot more for coin - this should be easy."

Jaskier raised a brow and stepped forward so he was standing beside Geralt.

"Not to doubt your intelligence, gentlemen, but don't you think he would have turned the princess in already if he wanted the reward? That is to say, if he had her to begin with?"

One of the men next to Petyr pointed his sword at Ciri.

"That's her right there!"

"What makes you think I'm her? I've never even been to Cintra," Ciri lied effortlessly. Years of sneaking into the streets of Cintra as a commoner, and hiding it from her grandmother, had given her practice.

"Doubt it," the man shook his head. "They said the princess has hair almost as fair as snow. Same as your pretty head, lass. I've never seen hair like that."

"Great deduction skills..." Jaskier muttered. The man glared back at him.

"Just give her to us and we won't kill you, witcher. Or the flamboyant twat next to you," Petyr said. "What's one girl worth?"

Geralt was quiet for a moment. The few people in the tavern were watching them, their food growing cool in front of them. Everything was still, except for the men who were wearing dark armor and moving outside the tavern's window.

"Geralt," she said, her breathe caught in her throat. "Soldiers."

"Run," Geralt said to her and moved forward, slashing his sword across one of the men's chests. His steel made horrible scraping sounds as it clashed with the men's blades. They were dropping quickly - one with a sickening crunch as his head slammed against a table after Geralt had slit his throat.

Geralt slashed at the men and fended off their attacks seamlessly. Ciri had never seen a man move so fast.

"Fiona, we need to go!" Jaskier said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the kitchen.

Jaskier threw the kitchen door open and charged through, leading Ciri around the tables and several startled cooks.

"The fuck you doin' back here?" Velemer's wife screamed at them. Jaskier had pushed Ciri through the back door before she heard what else the woman yelled. Ciri yanked Jaskier to a stop against the building once they were outside.

"What about Geralt? We can't leave without him!" she cried. Jaskier grabbed her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

"He'll be fine, trust me-"

"Stop them!"

Ciri's head whipped around and she saw at least a dozen Nilfgaard soldiers looking at them from the street. She felt a panicked scream start to rise from her gut, but it caught in her throat when Geralt barreled out of the same door they had just left from, his sword dripping with blood.

"Go!" he yelled and pushed Ciri and Jaskier forward. Ciri was relieved when she heard him grunting behind her as they ran.

They sprinted down the street behind the inn and weaved through the people milling from shop to shop. Some women shrieked when they saw Geralt thundering toward them with a bloody sword, and one man swore loudly when Geralt pushed over his cart to trip up the soldiers following closely behind them. It didn't distance them much, but Ciri figured anything helped.

Her legs burned and her throat was dry from her labored breaths, but she didn't dare stop. She couldn't tell if it was the adrenaline in her veins or sheer panic in her chest that kept her going.

"Jaskier, the stables!" Geralt shouted behind her. Ciri recognized the barn they had stopped at yesterday just up ahead. Jaskier glanced back at him over his shoulder as he ran, looking as exhausted as Ciri felt.

"How the fuck are we going to have time to get Roach before they catch up?" he yelled.

"I'll hold them off," Geralt shouted. "Take her and go!"

Ciri heard his footsteps fade and she looked back to see Geralt charging at the soldiers. She slowed to a stop, watching as at least a dozen other Nilfgaard soldiers joined the first group that had been chasing them and surrounded Geralt.

His sword tore into their guts and nicked their throats, but there were too many. At least eight bodies had slumped to the ground before one of them swiped the back of his leg with their sword, making him stagger. He cast a sign that sent some of them flying backwards and kept slashing the soldiers down, but they kept attacking him from all sides.

One of the soldiers behind Geralt raised his sword. Ciri thought Geralt was going to fling around and cut him down, like he had the others, but he was too busy fighting off soldiers from the front to notice. Just as he was about to plunge it into Geralt's back, Ciri lurched forward and a scream tore from her throat.

The soldiers went flying backwards, slamming into buildings, trees, and carts with so much force that blood pooled around them when their bodies hit the ground. Wind swept dirt and leaves into the air and sent carts and barrels whipping through the streets. The glass windows on the buildings closest to them shattered and the few people who had been on the street were sent tumbling backwards.

Only when the last soldier lay still on the ground did Ciri's scream finally stop. Her breathing was heavy after and her head felt like it was going to explode. She watched Geralt stand up from where he had been crouched on the ground, dirt stuck to his face and his hair looking wild from the wind.

His wide golden eyes were the last thing she saw before she swayed forward and collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your support!


	5. The Talk

It was completely silent when the wind finally stopped.

Geralt raised his head and looked around at the mess the street had become. Piles of splintered wood and cracked stone blocked the doors of homes and shops. The soldiers lay dead in the dirt; some of their limbs lining the side of the road that was now streaked with blood.

He was relieved when he saw Ciri still standing in the street and without a speck of blood on her skin. But she was rigid. Her gaze stayed firmly set on the massacre behind him and her lips were pressed tightly together, as if she hadn't just released the most terrible noise Geralt had ever heard.

He saw her eyes flicker between the men she had slaughtered. She looked like she was trying to make sense of what her role in this chaos was supposed to be; like a Doppler had taken her form but couldn't quite unlock her memories.

Geralt slowly stood up and sheathed his sword. The sound of the metal grating against his sheath caught her attention and her gaze met his. They stared at each other for a moment before Ciri's eyes rolled back into her head and she fell forward.

Geralt's gut tightened and he sprinted toward her, ignoring the sharp pain shooting up from the back of his leg. He dropped to his knee and felt her neck for a pulse. The steady beat of her heart made his own slow from the hammering pace it had been going at since he first saw the soldiers.

He tucked some of the hair that splayed across her face behind her ear before he wrapped one of his arms around her back and another under her legs. A horse neighed and Geralt's head whipped toward the stables as he lifted Ciri from the ground. Jaskier was standing in the threshold of the stable's wide doors with Roach and another horse next to him, each of their reins wrapped around one of his hands. They were shifting on their hooves slightly and, like Jaskier, were staring intensely at the scene before them.

Even the horses seemed stunned by what had happened.

Geralt quickly moved toward them and shifted Ciri against his shoulder so he could mount Roach.

"Holy fuck... Pavetta's gift," Jaskier said, his wide eyes on Ciri.

"We have to go," Geralt grunted as he pulled himself onto Roach. If there were that many men in the village, reinforcements must be near. He settled Ciri against his chest and looked over at Jaskier, who was still holding onto the horses' reins and still looking very disturbed by the dead men littering the street.

"Come with us," Geralt finally said. The bard didn't move.

"Jaskier," Geralt started. "Please."

He saw Jaskier swallow hard. The bard was still staring at the soldiers' bodies when he finally spoke.

"Fine," he said with a heavy voice. "But only for Cirilla. That poor girl needs all the help she can get."

Geralt nodded but Jaskier didn't see it. He let go of Roach's reins and swung himself onto the white horse he had brought out from the stable. They kicked the horses to a start and galloped down the road, the village fading quickly bechinnthem.

They rode for miles without slowing down. Geralt's adrenaline was still pumping through him and he couldn't keep the sight of so many Nilfgaard soldiers charging after Ciri from churning in his mind.

He had wondered before if Pavetta's gift had anything to do with Nilfgaard chasing after Ciri, or if the empire just wanted to make sure Cintra's claim to power was completely gone. Looking down at the girl in his arms, who seemed so pale and small despite the incredible power she just released, there was no doubt in Geralt's mind as to why they wanted her.

Now he was left to wonder what they wanted her power for.

They were still riding when the sun started to set. Geralt was relieved they hadn't run into anyone on the road and no one seemed to be on their tail. He would have kept going if Jaskier's horse hadn't started to slow and Ciri hadn't stirred. He felt her move against his chest and saw her staring at him when he glanced down at her.

"Geralt?" she croaked, her voice sounding incredibly hoarse. Geralt wished he had water to give her. "Are you OK?"

The side of his mouth quirked into the smallest smile. She was the one who had passed out after using more energy than she probably had - he should be asking her.

"I'm fine," he said. "You?"

She nodded her head. "Fine."

The way she winced when she spoke told him otherwise, but he didn't press it. She suddenly jerked forward with wide eyes and he had to wrap his arm tighter around her waist to keep her from falling off of Roach.

"Where's Jaskier? Are the soldiers still following us?" she said, panic clearly written across her face.

"I'm right here, princess," Jaskier pulled his horse beside Roach and he gave a gentle smile to Ciri, who settled back against Geralt when she saw him. "You're safe. We haven't seen anyone since the village, and I doubt there were any soldiers left to follow us."

Ciri looked down at the road. "Oh... right," she said quietly. Geralt thought he saw tears start to gather in her eyes but she blinked them away. He turned and looked at Jaskier, who sat incredibly stiff as he rode. His horse didn't look much better and seemed to be struggling to keep up with Roach.

"We should stop for the night," Geralt said and slowed Roach.

"Thank Melitele," Jaskier muttered and tugged on the reins of his horse, who seemed happy to oblige. Geralt led them into the forest and they stopped in a small, grassy opening that was out of sight from the road to make camp.

Geralt swung down from Roach, slightly grimacing when he landed on his left leg. He had forgotten one of the soldiers had nicked him there. He lifted Ciri on the ground next to him and kept a hand on her shoulder when he saw her stumble a bit. She seemed steady on her feet after a moment and he guided her to a log. She sat down on the grass and slumped against it. Geralt did the same next to her.

Jaskier tied his horse to a low hanging branch and carefully settled his lute case and a small bag he had been carrying on the ground. Geralt watched him kneel down and sift through it. He pulled out a waterskin after a moment and walked over to Ciri.

"Drink up, dear. You must be parched after a long day of riding," Jaskier smiled and handed her the waterskin. "I know I always am, especially when I have to keep up the pace this one rides at."

Ciri smiled back and went to take a sip, but paused. "There's not much left, I don't want to take it all," she started to give it back to Jaskier but he wrapped his hands around hers and gently pushed it to her chest.

"Nonsense! I had plenty on the road - why do you think it's so empty? Besides, I was going to fill it up. Sounds like there's a creek nearby," he turned his head toward the forest.

Ciri nodded and gulped down the rest of the water. A chilly breeze washed over them as she handed it back to him.

"I'll get some firewood, too," Jaskier said and stood back up. "Keep an eye on Geralt while I'm gone. Melitele knows what kinds of trouble he gets himself in when I leave him alone to his witchery devices."

Geralt saw Ciri give a small smile as Jaskier walked off into the woods. It bothered him that it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Was that the first time that's happened? The scream?" he asked after a moment. Ciri glanced up at him before turning to look at a tree nearby. Its leaves littered the ground in front of it - yet another sign winter was soon to set in.

"No. I found out about it the night Cintra... the night Nilfgaard attacked. It's happened a few times since, but it's never been that strong," Ciri said. He could tell she was trying to calm her breathing.

Geralt nodded. He didn't push her to continue, but she still spoke up after a moment.

"In the village, did I hurt anyone other than those soldiers?"

His chest tightened at how soft and innocent her voice was. The moon's light reflected in her wide green eyes when she looked up at him.

"I don't know," he said. "Though I only saw Nilfgaard bodies."

She nodded.

He leaned his head back against the log and listened to the sounds of the forest. The adrenaline was finally wearing off and he was glad they were able to rest, even if he could have kept riding through the night and into the next day. He heard an owl calling out and the rustle of squirrels running through the trees. His ears picked up Jaskier humming a tune as he pulled twigs and branches from the forest floor. Jaskier was too far away to hear him and Ciri, but Geralt was able to catch exactly what song the bard had on his lips.

"What happened between you and Jaskier?" Ciri said. He looked down at her with a slightly raised eyebrow at the timing of her question. She didn't seem to notice. "Things seemed... tense at the inn," she continued.

He was quiet as he tried to find a way to explain what had happened on the mountain without giving any detail, since the last thing she needed to hear was that he had blamed Jaskier for her. As if she was a burden.

Geralt sighed. He never was good with words, especially when they were about something he had fucked up.

"I blamed him for something I shouldn't have a while back. Said some things I regret," he grunted and turned his head away from Ciri. He felt her small hand rest gently on his arm.

"Tell him why you're sorry. Those are the only apologies that count," she said. Geralt thought he heard an air of royal authority in her tone, but the softness of her eyes - the first time he had seen anything other than a hollow shadow or fear in them since they left the village - was reassuring. He nodded.

Jaskier returned a few minutes later with his arms curled around a pile of twigs and branches.

"I found some of the best wood in the whole forest. Had to fight off a crow for one stick - greedy little nuisance. It's not even nesting season," he said, dumping the wood on the ground. Geralt thought he was kidding until he saw Jaskier pout and wipe away a small bead of blood on his finger.

Geralt lit the fire with a burst of igni once Jaskier had arranged the wood into a small pyre. It almost felt like they were back to their old routine. Jaskier always set up camp, either complaining or chattering as he milled about, while Geralt was in charge of getting food and lighting the fire. Any sense of warm familiarity that had settled in his chest quickly crumbled away when he noticed that Jaskier was purposefully avoiding his gaze and only spoke to Ciri.

"You know, princess. There was always the most beautiful pair of doves at the Cintran castle when I came to play," Jaskier said.

 _Ah. That's how Ciri knew him,_ Geralt thought.

"They always stayed in the garden and fluttered about the flowers, never truly leaving the other's side," Jaskier said. "Even when one would spend the afternoon in a patch of roses and the other in the lilac bushes, they always settled into one of the trees together at the end of the day."

Geralt felt Ciri shift beside him. She had pulled her knees against her chest to rest her chin on them.

"Grandmother said my parents released one of them when I was born," Ciri said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "She said it lived in the garden alone for a few years, with only pigeons to keep it company. Then one day another dove showed up. No one knew where it came from. I never even saw another dove in Cintra. But it never left the garden once it came, except for when the servants would bring them into one of the towers for the winter."

"They had lovely calls. Not like the annoying chirping you're stuck with out here. And the damn crows," Jaskier muttered and picked at his finger.

"I could catch your assailant for dinner," Geralt offered, half joking. He figured any sort of peace offering would help him at this point. But the bard still didn't look at him.

"No, it's fine. I have some left over tack and bread we can share," Jaskier said, standing up and going to his bag again. He pulled out the food and walked over to Ciri. She shook her head when he reached out to offer her some.

"No thank you, I'm not hungry. I think I'll just go to sleep," she said, her voice still sounding strained. Geralt turned to get a better look at her and frowned slightly when he saw how pale and exhausted she still looked.

"Alright," Jaskier smiled at her. He pulled a bundle of cloth from his bag and bunched it up before putting it down on the softest patch of grass near the fire. "It's not much, but my old shirt will make a better pillow than that log."

Ciri smiled back and shifted over to where the shirt was. Laying down and bunching it under her head, she settled onto her side, faced the fire, and shut her eyes. Jaskier tossed Geralt some of the tack. He chewed it slowly and watched Ciri until her breathing evened out and she was asleep. He turned his gaze to Jaskier, who was looking somberly at the fire.

"We should talk," Geralt said and Jaskier's eyes flicked up to him. "I'm sorry for what happened."

Jaskier stayed silent for several moments. Geralt didn't like it when the bard suddenly let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

"That's all you're going to say? For fuck's sake, Geralt. If you were any more emotionally constipated, you'd have shit dripping from your ears," Jaskier hissed. By the look his face, Geralt was fairly confident he would be yelling if Ciri wasn't asleep.

"I guess I deserve that," Geralt tried again, hoping that would be better received.

Jaskier rolled his eyes.

"Very good Geralt, you do," he huffed. "You're an arse for what you did. I know I can be annoying and chattery and the exact opposite of the silence you love to brood in, but I didn't shovel any shit that you didn't sink your feet into first. You were the one who wished for Yennefer from that djinn, and you were the one who asked for the Law of Surprise from Duny, whether you meant it or not," Jaskier's voice had grown a bit louder, but it dropped to a whisper when Ciri shifted slightly. "I sat in inns near that forsaken mountain for weeks waiting for you to come back for me, like you always did, but you didn't," He heard Jaskier take a deep breath. "You never came."

Geralt looked up and found frustrated tears pooling in the bard's blue eyes.

"I was going to look for you, but destiny got in the way," Geralt mumbled.

Jaskier's mouth dropped open before he quickly shut it and pursed his lips, glaring at him even more than he had before.

 _Fuck,_ Geralt thought. _Wrong thing to say_.

"Oh no you don't. You don't get to use destiny as a piss poor way out of this, Geralt. Not when that's the very thing you cursed me for!" he said. "And since it's only been two months since the fall of Cintra - and I know you didn't have the balls to find Ciri before that - you had plenty of time to seek me out for an apology. So don't blame destiny for your own mistakes!"

Geralt felt his shoulders go still against the log, part of him wanting to melt into it so Jaskier's piercing glare wasn't bearing into him.

"I didn't go after you because I didn't know what to say," he started, looking back at Jaskier. "What I did was wrong. You're the only human who has ever tried to be... was my friend. You never left me and never looked at me with fear. I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you. You didn't do anything to deserve it," Geralt swallowed. "And your singing isn't that bad," he added for good measure.

Jaskier's face seemed to relax a bit at that. He didn't look murderous anymore, which Geralt was glad for.

"Well," Jaskier cleared his throat. "I'll consider that apology a start. But if I'm going to stick around, you can't act like I'm constantly a thorn in your side. Not anymore."

Geralt nodded. Another breeze rustled through the trees and the flames flickered. Ciri, still asleep, curled into herself and shivered. Jaskier moved over to her and pulled off his cloak, laying it over her.

"How often did you play at the palace after she was born?" Geralt asked. Jaskier sat back down and put his hands under his armpits. Geralt wished he had his cloak to give the bard, but he had left it at the inn.

"At least once a year. Always on her birthday," Jaskier shifted. "Calanthe would invite a few bards to play on that night, so I knew could mix in with them. She never noticed me," he shrugged. "How did you find her?"

Geralt took another bite of his tack and swallowed before he spoke.

"I went to Cintra to get her when I saw Nilfgaard moving north, but Calanthe wouldn't let me take her," he said. "She took my swords and locked me in a cell right before Nilfgaard attacked."

"How did you get Ciri out?" Jaskier asked.

"I didn't," Geralt said. "Found her in the woods a few weeks later."

Jaskier turned his head toward to the girl huddled under his cloak. "Poor thing. You'd think Calanthe would've learned her lesson with Pavetta," Jaskier mumbled. He looked back at Geralt and his eyes flickered to his leg. He let out a sigh. "You're bleeding. Of course you're bleeding."

Geralt glanced down at his injured leg for the first time. He didn't realize how much blood had run down the back of calf from the spot where the soldier cut him. Jaskier started rustling through his bag again and pulled out a roll of gauze. Judging by the specks of blood on the fabric, Geralt thought it looked like the roll he'd thrown at Jaskier's head when he tried to tend to a nasty bite Geralt had gotten from a cockatrice a few weeks before the mountain.

"Let me see it. You always do a shit job of cleaning your wounds," Jaskier said and kneeled in front of him, his waterskin in hand.

The cut wasn't that deep and probably looked worse than it was, but he didn't try argue. He moved his leg out further and the bard started to dab a wet cloth against it. Geralt rested his head back against the log and closed his eyes, the sound of Ciri and Jaskier's steady breathing calming his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for the wonderful support! More's coming soon :)


	6. The Hair

The quiet crackling of the fire was the first thing Ciri heard when she woke up. She slowly opened her eyes and blinked against the bright sun that washed over her face. A cold bite hung in the air and she was glad the fire hadn't died out overnight.

She glanced over at Jaskier when she heard a small, rattling snore. The bard was curled up tightly in the grass with his jaw hung open. The side of his head that wasn't pressed against what Ciri assumed to be a pair of trousers had hair shooting up in every direction, slightly swaying each time a small breeze blew by.

Geralt was next to him, sitting cross legged with a hand on each of his knees. His eyes were shut and he sat so still that the small rising of his chest that came with each of his slow breaths was the only part of him that moved.

Ciri thought he looked peaceful. His face wasn't set in the hard lines she had grown so used to seeing since they had met. He almost looked relaxed, dare she say, and it was the closest she had ever seen to him sleeping.

Geralt was always sharpening his swords, cleaning his armor, or sitting near the fire when she fell asleep, and he was always cleaning up their camp or brushing out Roach when she woke up in the mornings. A flash of fear had bolted through her when she woke up and found that he wasn't there one morning. He appeared from behind a bush less than a minute later with two fat pigeons in hand, but it still took her a moment to calm her nerves and remind herself she wasn't alone.

"Morning, Ciri," he said, opening his golden eyes. She sat up and felt something slide off of her. Looking down, she saw Jaskier's cloak bunched up at her feet. A pang of guilt shot through her chest when she looked back at the bard. No wonder he was huddled up so tightly against the ground.

"He'll be fine. He's put up with worse," Geralt said and she turned her attention back to him.

"How did you sleep?" she said through a yawn. He shrugged.

"Fine. Got enough rest."

Ciri quirked an eyebrow at that. "How much is enough for a witcher?"

"An hour, maybe less. We don't need much," he said. Ciri sat up a little more at that.

"Why?"

She saw his jaw tense just the slightest bit.

"How much do you know about witchers?" he asked.

"Not a lot," she shrugged. "I guess just that you fight monsters. I asked Grandmother about them once, but she said they weren't real. Just a story mothers told their children to help them feel safe when they dreamed of monsters snatching them from their beds."

"Hmm," he paused for a moment. "We don't need much sleep because we're mutants. We're faster than humans, stronger too. And we live longer."

Ciri gave a slight nod. That explained why he cut through those soldiers so quickly, and why he never seemed to fatigue. But his age-

"How old are you?" she asked.

"One hundred and twenty, give or take a few years," he said. Her eyes grew wide at that. She knew Mousesack was much more older than he looked, but he at least had wrinkles lining his eyes and mouth - even though he tried to deny it. Only the small scars that littered Geralt's skin hinted at his age.

Well, except for the hair.

"I guess that explains the white hair," she said.

A short chuckle, or something that sounded like one, rumbled in Geralt's throat.

"Are you saying I look old?" he said with a small smirk. She felt her own lips start to turn into a smile.

"I would never! I was taught better manners than that," she said, still smiling.

"Hmm," he hummed.

Ciri shifted so her legs were tucked under her. "What other special powers do witchers have? I feel like I should be prepared if I look up and you're flying or something," she said.

"That's mostly it. Though I should be asking you that," Geralt said. "Is the scream the only thing you can do?"

Ciri paused to think. She hadn't realized she had powers before the night Nilfgaard attacked. But during her time with Dara, when they sat in silence at night, she had thought back to her childhood and realized there had been some signs.

"I think I made a hairbrush levitate once. It was the night I found out my parents died, but I figured I was just seeing things," she said, thinking of the brush her mother used to use on her hair each night before she went to sleep.

"Then a flower pot exploded near me when Grandmother and I were fighting in the gardens a few years later. She found out I had been sneaking out of the castle to play in the city and said I couldn't anymore. One of the pieces cut her hand," Ciri frowned slightly. "Some of the servants' children were playing with marbles nearby and I just assumed they had hit the pot by mistake."

The air between them was quiet for a moment.

"They only come out when you're upset," Geralt said with his eyes set on hers. "Your powers."

"Is that unusual?" she asked.

Geralt shrugged. "I don't know. Witchers aren't able to do magic like a mage or sorcerer, just signs that can help us in a battle. Anything else is beyond my knowledge."

Ciri nodded. She wasn't sure she even was a mage. Mousesack had said mages were always in control of their chaos, and she was anything but.

"Do you think Vesemir would know how to help me control... whatever it is I have?" she asked. "Or Yennefer?"

Geralt tensed when she said her name. Ciri still didn't really know who Yennefer was. When she first asked about the woman and explained her dream back in the forest where they first met, Geralt had only said she was a mage he had once known.

"Vesemir might have some books that could help. Yennefer..." he paused, looking down at the fire. "From your dream, it sounds like she was at Sodden Hill. You remember what Yurga said."

"Almost no one made it out," she said softly.

"Hmm," he grunted and kept his eyes on the fire. Whatever peace she had seen settle into his face earlier was gone. She probably looked the same. The thought of having to navigate her powers without help terrified her. She had no idea how to keep them from taking over when she was distraught, and the fear that she could hurt an innocent person - or take their life - without meaning to had lingered in the back of her mind for weeks.

Even with this power, she still felt so helpless. And that terrified her.

She shouldn't feel so vulnerable, she thought. She had always been protected, first by her grandparents and Mousesack, then the dryads, and now Geralt. But she didn't want to feel safe only when she was with someone else. She wanted to feel safe on her own, with herself.

Maybe that was the answer.

"Geralt," she said, looking back at the witcher. He glanced up from the fire. "Like you said, my powers mostly come out when I feel threatened. Maybe if I was able to defend myself, I wouldn't feel like I'm in as much danger."

He didn't respond right away. When he did, he still looked like he was mulling the thought around in his head.

"Using a blade isn't as easy as it looks. It's hard work."

"I want to try," she said, taking a deep breath. "I want to feel like I have some sort of control over myself."

Geralt looked at her for a moment. She felt a small smile tug on her lips when he finally nodded.

"We'll start training when we get to Kaer Morhen. Vesemir will probably want to have a hand in it, too," he said.

She felt a small sense of relief settle over her. The idea that she might finally get some sort of grasp on her powers, even if it was in an indirect way, already put her slightly at ease.

Jaskier stirred and they both glanced at him. He flopped over onto his back and his snores grew quiet. Just when Ciri thought he might wake up, another loud snore pierced the air. Geralt cast his gaze up at the sun before standing up and walking over to Jaskier. He looked down at him for a moment, then nudged him firmly, but not unkindly, with his boot.

"Jaskier. Wake up," Geralt grunted. "We need to go."

The snoring stopped but Jaskier didn't open his eyes.

"Shoo, Roach," he grumbled. Geralt rolled his eyes and knelt down. He shook Jaskier's shoulder and the bard's eyelids slowly fluttered open. He shot up, nearly smashing his forehead against Geralt's, if the witcher hadn't leaned back so quickly.

"Gah!" Jaskier yelped through a heavy breath. His shoulders slumped when he saw Geralt still kneeling next to him. "Don't do that, Geralt! Not to say your glowing eyes aren't lovely, but they're bloody terrifying to wake up to," he huffed.

"Be glad its my glowing eyes and not a mountain cat's." Geralt said, standing up. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Ciri reached for the water skin next to her to take a drink as Jaskier shook his head and scooted closer to the fire. "As if I've forgotten about that damned cat that attacked us near Temeria," he scoffed. "Blood thirsty beast, that was. Didn't need to be so vicious."

Geralt raised his eyebrow just the slightest bit. "You pissed on its back."

Ciri nearly choked on the water sliding down her throat.

"Well, how was I to know it was asleep in that bush?" Jaskier said. "Since when do mountain cat's sleep in bushes? Not a very smart move on its part, if you ask me."

"Clearly," Ciri said with a laugh. "What did it do to you?"

"Nearly bit off my di- ah," he paused, looking at Ciri. "Finger. Nearly bit off my finger."

"Of course," Ciri scoffed.

Geralt shook his head and moved back toward the fire. He kicked some dirt over the small flames, snuffing them out, before he picked up his sheath and wrapped it back around his torso.

Jaskier stood up, swinging his lute case over his shoulder, and walked over to his horse, who was tied to a tree and grazing on a small patch of grass next to Roach. Ciri suddenly remembered the cloak at her feet. She picked it up and brushed it off before bringing it over to him.

"Here's your cloak," she said. He turned around and she quickly placed it into his hands. "You didn't need to let me have it, but thank you," she smiled.

"Nonsense! What type of gentleman would I be if I let a lady freeze?" he said.

"Is that why you spend so many nights warming ladies' beds?" Geralt muttered as he saddled up Roach.

Jaskier frowned, but Ciri didn't think he looked truly put off.

"That, Geralt, is not a conversation for certain ears," he said, darting his eyes to Ciri. She rolled her eyes.

Ciri picked up Jaskier's bag for him while he saddled his horse. For someone in such fine clothes and with such a frivolous attitude, Ciri was surprised to see the bard tighten the saddle and hoist himself onto it so effortlessly.

"There is some food in there left from last night, if you want any," he said to her, nodding toward the bag. Her stomach rumbled and she smiled at Jaskier.

After she pulled out the food, she handed the bag to him and walked over to Roach.

"All set?" Geralt asked. She nodded and he lifted her onto Roach's back before hoisting himself up behind her. Geralt led them out of the trees, with Ciri munching on stale bread in front of him, and stopped when they reached the road.

"Which way?" Jaskier called out. Geralt looked toward the right, staring down the long dirt path.

"North."

* * *

The streets were quiet.

An occasional pair of eyes from a weary villager peaked out from the dirty window of a home or shop, but only soldiers walked through the town. Several of them were loading bodies onto a cart, tossing severed arms and legs haphazardly into a pile near the stables.

Cahir watched as another group of soldiers sifted through rubble near the edge of the village, some of them staring at the buildings nearby. The structure's were still standing, but not by much. Clumps of thatching from roofs covered the ground and stones that were once stacked inside of chimneys rested on top of each other on the street.

"She's strong," Fringilla said, suddenly appearing beside him.

He didn't turn to look at her. "Nothing we didn't know before."

"She'll be harder to control, I mean," she said. By the tone of the mage's voice, she would be frowning if it wasn't already her normal expression.

"We'll find a way," he shrugged. "The stronger her powers, the better. You know that."

A small sigh just barely loud enough to hear escaped the woman. "This may change things Cahir. We need to be ready, maybe better prepared-"

"We will be, Fringilla," he said with a sharp edge to his voice. "You'll see to that. We won't have another Sodden on our hands."

"Of course," she said with pursed lips.

Cahir watched as two soldiers and a tall, lanky man with a dirty shirt and even dirtier face approached him. He fought the urge to step back when they came closer and the man's stench reached his nose.

"Sir," one of the soldiers said. "This man says the innkeeper was a friend of the witcher's."

"And who would be the innkeeper?" he drawled.

"He lives in a hut behind there," the lanky man said with bright eyes, reminding Cahir of a child trying to impress his mother. "He told me and my friends, rest their souls, that the beast was welcome in his tavern but we weren't."

"Shocking," Cahir said and turned away to head toward the hut.

"Wait!" the man called out. Cahir stopped, but didn't turn around. "I was told there was a reward for information about the witcher and the girl. That was information."

"No, there is a reward for anyone who brings me the girl," he said over his shoulder. "And I don't see her."

"Can't you spare any coin? Food even?" the man said, pleading. "Half the country side is starving because of your damned war!"

Cahir turned fully around at this. The two soldiers were still on either side of the man.

"Your reward was going to be your life," he said. "Guess not."

The man's eyes widened. He started to speak again but was cut off when the soldier on his left slit open his throat with a knife.

"Which hut did he say?" Cahir said, looking at Fringilla. She pointed to one across the street.

He strode toward it with Fringilla and the two soldiers trailing behind him. He pulled open the door and saw two young children jump up from a spot on the floor. An older boy was sitting next to a man with a graying beard at a table, who stood up.

"Are you the inkeeper?" Cahir asked.

"Aye," he said, eyeing Cahir wearily. "Who's asking?"

Cahir ignored his question. "I heard you know Geralt of Rivia."

"He's a good man," he shrugged. "Not like those stories they tell."

"I don't care about his character. I just need to know where he's heading," Cahir said, taking another step forward.

"How am I supposed to know? I don't know him well. He just stops by the inn every now and then looking for contracts," he said.

"I don't believe you," Cahir frowned and nodded toward one of the soldiers, who stepped forward, grabbed the inkeeper by the beard and pressed a knife to his throat. The two smaller children screamed and the older boy reached for his father but was held back by his mother, who had been standing near the table. An unfinished scarf still tied to her sewing needles sat on the chair next to her.

"Fine, he went south! Said he was taking the girl there!" the inkeeper yelled, with the cool blade against his throat.

"Why would he head south when the north is the only land we haven't conquered," Cahir asked.

"I don't bloody well know! That's all he said!"

The soldier pressed the blade closer to his skin, drawing several beads of blood, when the door opened and another soldier stepped inside with a saddle bag in hand.

"Sir, we found something at the inn," he said, handing the bag to him.

Cahir opened it and stuck his hand inside, sifting through the few belongings that sat at the bottom. He stopped when he saw a wooden comb. Pulling it out, he held it up against the dim light inside the hut. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he saw a long, pale blonde hair twisted through the comb's teeth.

Fringilla stepped forward and he handed her the comb. "Will this do?" he asked.

She looked it over, twirling the comb in her fingers, before nodding.

"Yes. Though I'll need time," she said.

"Of course." Cahir's tight-lipped smirk widened. "Whatever it takes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a switch up in perspectives this time! Sorry it took a bit longer to get this chapter out. I'm a full-time writer (and thankfully still employed) so I'm sometimes all worded out by the end of the week. Updates might not come as frequently as they did at the start, but I'll still be posting regularly and even more so once the summer kicks off, since I'm set to have a good amount of time off. Thanks again for all of the wonderful support! You all rock!


	7. The Song

Geralt had grown used to hearing only the clopping of Roach's hooves and the soft rustling of the trees while on the road, especially this one.

It was the last major road before they reached the tight, freezing passes that lead to Kaer Mohren, and Geralt had always traveled it alone. Jaskier had already left him before this point during the few years he decided to winter at Kaer Mohren and travelers rarely used it, since it only led to the mountains and a small, quiet village.

Roach and his thoughts were always his only companions as he neared the one place he'd ever truly called home. But this time was different, and he couldn't say he minded.

"I can't believe Sir Ike called you pig-headed. He was always so sweet!" Ciri giggled.

"Ahh, that's what he'd want you to think, Ciri," Jaskier said as they traveled down the road on their horses. It was near midday and Geralt had been listening to them trade stories of their time at court for the past hour. "Butter the royal family and other members of court with compliments and a bright smile, and they won't care when you yell at a poor bard who's down on his luck."

Geralt knew the duke's insult was a bit more colorful than pig-headed. And he knew Jaskier _had_ been quite lucky that night - specifically with the duke's wife.

Ciri giggled, her cloak resting in her lap instead of around her shoulders. The day was warmer than most. Geralt knew the comfortable breeze wouldn't last long, especially as they got closer to the mountains. They'd been making good time on the road, even with the scene they caused in the village two days ago, and the biting northern winds would hit them soon enough.

"I guess so. Though that sounds more like Lady Lillian- she was the worst," Ciri said. "She'd call Grandmother a bitch when she was talking to the other ladies in court, but act like her best friend to her face. And she was always horrible to the servants. She said one of the maids was stealing the sheets and got her fired because her husband looked down at her chest once."

Jaskier nodded. "I remember her. Nasty temper, that one. Can't say she liked me much, either," Jaskier paused, looking up at the trees thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, most of the Cintran court didn't like me. Though Temeria- that court _really_ didn't like me."

"Why?" Ciri said.

Jaskier sighed. "I made one joke about the princess's laugh sounding like a growl, and let's just say King Foltest didn't find it funny. Neither did the court, the flock of sheep they are."

"Most men wouldn't laugh at a joke about their daughter, much less that man." Geralt added, speaking up for the first time since they had set off. They both looked at him.

"You know King Foltest?" Ciri said.

Geralt nodded. "I helped turn Princess Adda back from a striga. Can't say it was a pleasant way to meet."

Ciri's eyebrows shot up. "That story is real? No wonder her skin looked so scaly in the sun. Mousesack said it was just because she had the pox when she was young."

"She wouldn't have tried to bite through my neck if it was just the pox," Geralt said.

"No, I suppose not," Ciri agreed. "What other courts have you visited? You don't seem like someone who would want to stop by many."

"I've lost track," he said, partly because he had been to nearly all of them, and partly because he didn't want the conversation to lead to his time in Cintra. He didn't want her to ask why he hadn't visited again. "Can't say I'd want to go back. Jaskier dragged me to most of them."

The bard smiled. "Rightfully so. I make more in one night playing a royal feast than Geralt can on four of his contracts. Besides, everyone needs a little fun now and again - even cranky old witchers."

"Hmm," Geralt grunted. "Because getting glared at by kings and queens while their soldiers breath down your neck all night is fun."

Jaskier shook his head and shifted on his saddle. "Really, Geralt. Do you always need to be so dramatic? Courts love you!" he said, gesturing to the witcher. "Every time I play your song, ladies get positively flushed with admiration and the lords love to sing along!"

Geralt hated the song. It had helped some villages receive him better when Jaskier played it after he fulfilled a contract, sure, but he inwardly cringed every time he heard it. It made him sound like a hero, "a friend of humanity." But he was just a witcher; a mutant created from pain and hellish potions. He killed monsters because it was his job, only helping humans when they paid him to.

Heroes save others simply because it's the right thing to do. And heroes don't abandon their friends or avoid their responsibilities.

"There's a song about you?" Ciri asked, turning to look up at him and pulling him from his thoughts. He was glad Jaskier answered before he could.

"Is there a song about Geralt of Rivia?" the bard scoffed. "Why, it's only the most popular ballad I've ever composed! I suppose your grandmother probably never wanted you to hear it-" Geralt grew tense when he saw Ciri's eyebrows furrow, like she wanted to ask a question. She didn't get to since Jaskier kept talking. "-but it's my most requested song everywhere else. People eat it up, even the innkeepers and aldermen who would usually try to skimp out on Geralt's reward after a contract."

"Could I hear it?" Ciri said. Jaskier went to reach for the lute case strung around his shoulder but stopped and looked over at Geralt, his bright smile fading.

"Maybe another time, love."

Even though they'd made some sort of truce and things felt almost normal between them, there were moments when the bard still seemed to tread lightly around him - like Geralt would curse him without a moment's notice if he said or did the wrong thing. Geralt didn't miss the worried look that seeped onto Jaskier's face when he accidentally nicked Roach with the pointed end of a stick while using it to tell Ciri a story about a Redanian knight, or the way he grew sullen after Ciri asked Geralt if he had ever seen a dragon during his adventures.

Seeing the bard lose his confident and carefree nature, even for a moment, bothered Geralt. Especially when it was because of him. 

"Go on," the witcher said after a moment. Jaskier's eyebrows rose slightly. "Better she hear you sing it than a second-rate bard."

Jaskier's lips tugged into a small smile and he pulled the lute case from behind his back. "Well, if the star himself insists, I suppose a performance is in order. But don't tell anyone I didn't charge you," he said, looking at Ciri. "You wouldn't believe how often people try to get me to play at their taverns or parties for free."

Ciri smiled and nodded, leaning back against Geralt. Jaskier pulled the lute out of its case and, after making sure it was tuned, started strumming his fingers against the strings.

_"When a humble bard..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the longest chapter, but it felt right to end it there. Like, comment, and subscribe for more!


	8. The Nightmare - Part 1

The sound of Jaskier's sweet voice was a welcome break from the silence that often followed them on the road.

He told the grandest stories with his songs: some of incredible heroes and beautiful maidens, others of broken-hearted lovers and grieving friends. He made each story feel so real, like she could envision herself standing beside the characters as their tale unfolded.

And just for a moment, as his voice rang out, the anxious weight in her chest didn't feel so heavy.

They had just passed a wide river when Jaskier finished singing a song about a kitchen wench who had been turned into a toad for eyeing her mistress's husband. Ciri clapped and he raised his left arm to do a grand bow while sitting atop Juniper (he had decided on her name just the night before). He straightened his back, tugged at his collar and cleared his throat.

"I'd offer another song, but I think I've nearly sung myself hoarse," Jaskier said, pulling out his waterskin for a drink.

"That's alright, you've given quite the show since we stopped for lunch," Ciri smiled. Geralt had caught an impressively large trout when they stopped around midday, and Jaskier announced that "such an occasion deserved a song to commemorate it with." After he'd written an impromptu ballad about the fish's mighty life in the river and its final moments of fighting against Geralt's brutish hands, he continued on with other tunes.

"What's your favorite song you've written?" she asked. She had heard quite a few of them since he joined them. Some she knew by heart, others she had never heard before. But they were all interesting in their own right.

"I'm not sure," he said, pursing his lips. "Wait, I know. It's one about a dog I befriended when I was really young. I found him in the woods one day and he followed me everywhere after that," he smiled fondly. "We were best friends, me and that pup."

"I don't think I've heard that one yet," Ciri said.

"I've never performed it," he shrugged.

"If it's your favorite, why don't you share it?" Ciri asked, her head tipped to the slide just the slightest bit.

Jaskier shrugged and smiled. "Because sometimes doing something just for yourself is reward enough, especially when people are always expecting something from you. That and I doubt the crowds I usually play for would want a song about a little boy and his puppy."

Geralt tugged on Roach's reins and the horse came to a stop. Ciri turned her head and looked up at him, a sense of worry pulling at her gut when she saw the way his nostrils flared and his eyes bore into the road ahead.

"Geralt, what's wrong?" she said softly.

He was quiet for a moment. "There's a camp ahead. Jaskier, stay close," he tugged Roach's reins and continued moving forward.

"Not to doubt your typically impeccable sense of direction, but don't you think we should be moving away from a camp? Since we're trying to avoid people?" Jaskier said, guiding his horse closer to Roach.

"I don't think any of these travelers will notice us," Geralt grunted.

Ciri furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, but turned to look forward when she smelled a faint hint of rot. She could see a cart, then another as they got closer. She suddenly felt her stomach roll when she spotted a small boot attached to a spindly leg sticking out from under a pile of bundles and bags.

She saw even more bodies as they got closer. Some were partially covered by the belongings that were haphazardly thrown about. Others lay flat on their backs, their frozen eyes staring at a sky they couldn't truly see. She couldn't decide if inhaling their rotting stench or watching hundreds of bugs crawl over their gray bodies was worse.

Each victim had gashes littering their skin and dried blood staining their threadbare clothes. Some had gray hair that was specked with dark blood, while others were barely older than babes. Ciri felt her throat tighten when she saw one little girl who had a limp arm wrapped around a woman's neck as they lay still in the dirt. Judging by their hair being the same shade of dirty blonde, she figured that must be her mother.

"What happened?" Jaskier said. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Geralt leaned forward slightly and pushed himself off of Roach. He handed Ciri the reins and walked over to one of the bodies. He knelt down and rolled over one man, revealing three long marks of open flesh running down his back.

"Looks like crouxens attacked them," Geralt said. Ciri glanced over at Jaskier, who was frowning and looking slightly pale.

"How many?" Jaskier asked.

"More than one," Geralt shrugged. "We should go. They could move in quickly."

Ciri took a deep breath and looked around at the bodies. They were wrapped in blankets and ratty coats, with bags of pots and measly amounts of food strewn around them. They looked like nothing more than a ragtag bunch of refugees who were seeking a better life and killed before they could find it.

She caught a glimpse of a short, stubby body near the end of the group. A scraggly beard lined his jaw and the pommel of a small sword that looked like it was made for a highborn child rested in his limp hand.

She slid off of Roach and walked over to the body. She noticed his lifeless eyes were staring directly at her, and she nearly gagged when she recognized him.

It was the dwarf who killed his mistress at the Cintran refugee camp; the same dwarf who was forced to give her his boots.

Ciri thought she heard Geralt calling her name, but she wasn't listening. She looked down at her boots - _his boot_ _s_ \- on her feet and slowly trailed her eyes over to his legs. His feet were poorly wrapped with dirty cloth and the skin that did show was blistered and cracked open.

Tears started to pool in her eyes and it became hard to breath. Even though she wanted to look away from his pale face and mutilated body and pretend she was somewhere else, anywhere else, she couldn't. Her eyes were locked on his as guilt roiled in her gut.

Her attention snapped away from the dwarf only when she heard a nasty growl pierce the air behind her. Someone gruffly grabbed her arm and before she could fully turn around to see what was happening, she was staring at Geralt's back.

"Stay close!" Geralt yelled as he plunged his sword into a nasty, horrible looking creature that looked like it was about to swipe its claws at them. It wasn't much larger than Ciri, but looked vicious all the same. As it screamed and fell to the ground, another appeared from the treeline and charged at Jaskier, who had grabbed Roach's reins while still riding his own horse and moving quickly toward them.

The monster reached up for Jaskier just as he slowed beside Geralt and Ciri, but before he could dig his claw into the bard's leg or nick his horse, Geralt surged forward and sliced into the creature's gut.

Jaskier reached down to pull Ciri up beside him but was cut off when a third monster leapt in between them. Ciri fell to the ground next to the dwarf's body and looked for Geralt, who was fighting off two more monsters.

Just as Jaskier called out Geralt's name and the beast went to slice into Ciri, she groped the ground behind her and pulled the sword from the dwarf's hand. In a swift motion, she shoved the sword up toward the monster and closed her eyes, waiting for claws to stab into her. But instead, she felt the sword dig into something solid and heard a horrible screech.

She felt something wet and warm hit her stomach and she opened her eyes. The blade had pierced through the monster's throat and it quickly became limp, nearly landing on her if she hadn't shuffled backwards on her hands and knees.

Jaskier quickly hopped off his horse and knelt down next to Ciri. His panicked face was even more pale than before and he gripped her shoulders, pulling her up to face him.

"Ciri - blood, are you hurt?" he stuttered through shaky breaths. Ciri took a deep breath and shook her head.

"I'm fine. It's that... thing's blood," she said softly, pulling at the red patch on her light green dress. She felt the warm liquid seep onto her stomach and wanted to vomit.

"Good," Jaskier sighed, squeezing her shoulder. Another screech rang out and his eyes widened again as he quickly turned around.

Ciri looked over at Geralt and saw him tear his sword from one of the monster's skulls. It collapsed against the ground with a thud next to four others that already lay dead. He quickly turned and ran over to them. Specks of blood dotted his face, but he seemed unharmed.

Jaskier took Ciri's hand and helped her stand up. Geralt stopped in front of them and looked Ciri over for any injuries, his gaze lingering on the blood on her dress. His jaw was tense and his brows were furrowed together. He let out a deep sigh once he seemed sure she truly was alright.

"You killed it?" he said, pointing to the sword she hadn't realized she was still holding. Ciri nodded.

Geralt looked like he wanted to say more by the way he stood still for a moment longer, but he simply grunted and grabbed Roach's reins. "We should go. There could be more."

Ciri took a deep breath and looked at the sword in her hands. She put it down next to the dwarf, careful to avoid his hollow gaze, and walked over to Geralt on shaky legs.

He lifted her onto Roach and climbed on behind her. Without another word, they took off down the road with Jaskier close behind, leaving the dead beasts to rot alongside the unfortunate travelers who had crossed their path.

* * *

Ciri clasped her hands tightly the entire time they rode to keep them from shaking. She kept them together even after Geralt helped her down from Roach and he and Jaskier started to make camp, afraid the small tremors in her fingers would spread to other parts of her body.

She stayed standing by Roach as Jaskier finished gathering twigs and small pieces of wood that were strewn about the forest floor around them. The last rays of sunshine peaked out through the leaves hanging over them and Geralt lit the fire. He pulled a bundle of his clothes from his bag after sparking the flames and walked over to her.

"There's a stream not far from here, if you want to wash out your dress," he said, handing her his extra shirt and pants. It was the first time any of them had spoken since they left the dead group of travelers. "I can stay nearby while I hunt."

Ciri took the clothes, doing her best to hide the tremors, and nodded. Geralt turned and started to walk into the trees. He tossed a quick "We'll be back," over his shoulder to Jaskier.

The stream was only a few minutes away from their camp. They both stayed quiet as they approached it, and the sound of water rushing over rocks reached her ears before she spotted it. Without a word, Geralt pulled out one of his swords. Ciri didn't miss the way the fading sunlight glimmered on the few spots of cool steel that weren't hidden by dark splotches of dried blood.

"Yell if you need anything," he said and turned away. Ciri watched as he disappeared into the brush.

She knelt down and looked into the stream, which was flowing just slow enough for her to catch her pale face and green eyes staring back at her. She didn't look long. Something about her hollow expression reminded her of the empty gaze on the dwarf's dead face.

The dry blood sticking to her stomach through her dress was suddenly the only thing she could feel. Her gut was turning as she tore off her dress and her undershirt, balling them up and tossing them onto the ground beside her. She dipped her hands into the cold water and rubbed her stomach until the blood was gone and her skin felt raw.

She was shivering from the cold by the time she put on Geralt's clothes. Rolling up the giant sleeves and knotting the waist of the pants several times to keep them from falling, Ciri grabbed her dress and dunked it into the water. She pulled up a clump of moss from the ground next to her and rubbed it against the stain. The dark splotch faded but wouldn't go away completely, no matter how hard she tried to make it disappear.

After the sun was nearly gone and her teeth were chattering from the cold, she gave up and started walking back to camp with the soaked clothes bunched up in her hand. She could see Jaskier's form next to the fire when Geralt appeared beside her, two birds in his hand.

"Is it gone?" he said, pointing to her dress. She shook her head.

"Not quite."

Jaskier was holding a stick that was skewered through a dead squirrel when they reached him. He looked up at them and smiled triumphantly as Ciri pulled her cloak around her shoulders and sat down across from him.

Geralt stopped and stared at the squirrel before sitting down. "You caught that?" he asked.

Jaskier's smile widened. "Why yes Geralt, I did. I may not be known for being the quickest or best hunter- well, I've never been known for hunting at all - but I managed to catch us some dinner. Turns out, squirrels are infatuated with week-old tack. This one here was so focused on eating the piece that fell out of my satchel that he didn't see me until my hand was around his neck," Jaskier said, clutching at the air like he had just caught another. Ciri felt bile roll around in her stomach.

Geralt leaned down and examined the roasting animal. He grunted after a brief moment.

"You missed a few patches of fur near the neck."

Jaskier's smile faltered just the slightest. "I kept catching sight of his beady eyes when I was working up there, so I guess I looked away a bit. But his bum is smooth as a babe's. Check if you don't believe me," he added. Geralt looked over at him, frowning slightly.

"I'll take your word for it."

Ciri looked at the squirrel's body as it darkened over the flames. The muscle hung loosely from the bones as the flames just barely lapped against it, and the smoke was almost thick enough to block her view of the fire's bright reflection dancing in its dark, dead eyes.

"I think it's almost done," Jaskier said. He pulled the stick away from the fire a bit to get a better look at it. "Just a short while longer. With Geralt's catch, it looks like we'll have a feast tonight!" he grinned and looked over at Ciri. She gave a meek smile back.

"I'm still pretty full from lunch. Do you have anymore tack?" she asked. She wasn't sure her stomach could handle much else.

Geralt stopped plucking feathers from one of the birds and looked over at her. Jaskier put the squirrel back over the fire. "Sorry, love. Speck here got what I had left," he said.

"You named the squirrel?" Geralt asked.

"Well, he has a lot of specks on his fur. Or had, rather..." Jaskier looked down at the roasting squirrel. "It didn't seem right for him to die without some sort of dignity or honor."

Geralt was silent as he stared at the bard.

"Hmm," he grunted, turning back to face the fire.

Jaskier put a hand on his hip. "Think me strange all you want, Geralt, but at least I have enough creativity to come up with new names, rather than just recycle dull, monosyllabic ones like 'Roach.' Don't expect to meet a 'Juniper II' after this one kicks the bucket," he said, gesturing to the white mare grazing next to Roach.

"You call all of your horses Roach?" Ciri raised an eyebrow and turned toward Geralt.

He shrugged. "It's a good name."

They sat in silence as Geralt cleaned the birds and positioned them over the fire once they were bare. Usually, the soft crackling of the flames and occasional hoot that rang out from the forest was relaxing. But Ciri kept zoning in on every noise she heard, feeling their vibrations run down her spine.

Jaskier ripped off the squirrel's leg when it was done and handed it to her. Any other night, she would be glad. It was her favorite part to eat. But seeing a small trail of grease run down the severed thigh was anything but appetizing right now.

Ciri took the leg with a small smile and bit into it, not wanting to concern either Jaskier or Geralt. She pulled a chunk of meat from the bone and slowly chewed it. She wanted to spit it out, but forced herself to swallow.

Jaskier gave the other leg to Geralt before biting into the squirrel's torso. He asked Geralt about the stretch of road they still had ahead of them, and Ciri waited for Geralt to answer before sliding the leg into the dirt on the ground behind her. The forest was entirely dark now, and she hoped they didn't notice.

"Already done?" Jaskier asked after a moment. Geralt stared at her, his eyebrows furrowing just the smallest bit. Ciri swallowed and nodded.

"I guess I was hungrier than I thought," she said through a yawn. "And more tired. Sorry to skip out on your feast, but I think I might just go to sleep," she pointed to the crows, which were still cooking but looked nearly done.

"Well, I 'spose it has been a rather... exhausting day," Jaskier said. He stuffed his hand inside his bag and pulled out the extra clothes she had been using as a pillow, reaching around the fire to hand them to her.

She laid down, facing away from the flames, and bunched up the clothes under her head.

"Goodnight, Ciri," Jaskier said.

"Night," she said back.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on Geralt and Jaskier's voices, which had grown softer since she laid down. Their quiet conversation about where they could find better feed for the horses helped her focus on something other than the noises that drifted into the campsite from the forest, and the tight knot pulling at her chest.

Before she knew it, she felt herself slip into a realm of darkness. Like every night, this moment of complete stillness and peace as her body started to rest was a welcome release. It the only time she was free of any thought, good or bad.

But like many nights, this moment didn't last long.

She heard the sound of songbirds singing first, then saw a thin ray of sunlight pierce through the darkness. The light was getting brighter and felt closer than before. Ciri couldn't tell if she was moving toward it, or if it was moving toward her.

The light was directly in front of her now and a flash of blue and gold caught her eye. She looked harder into the light, seeing a flag with a lion sigil and a long stone hallway come into view.

Ciri moved through the light and found herself inside the walls of the Cintran castle. The empty armor of a knight was displayed against the wall on her right. She knew it well, having hidden inside the hollow figure more times than she could count during games of hide and seek with Eist, or when her etiquette tutor arrived at the castle for her lessons.

The stone walls were covered in portraits of Cintra's many rulers. She recognized each one - Grandmother had made sure of that.

King Rowan the Great had a beard longer than she had been tall when Grandmother first told her of his famous wisdom and wit. King Augustus the Wide was known for once getting stuck in his bath, and King Tommen the Kind was loved by his people, even though hundreds of Cintran soldiers died in the wars of their allies. Grandmother said he was too afraid of upsetting Skellige and Redania to not come to their aid when they tried to wage an ambitious and unsuccessful war against kingdoms in the south, even though Cintra had nothing to gain.

 _"A queen must always put herself and her kingdom first. Otherwise, greedy kings will think her weak and try to take what isn't theirs."_ Grandmother had once told her.

Ciri swallowed hard when she saw her Grandmother's grand portrait toward the end of the hallway. It was one of the few paintings she had ever seen that truly captured the person it depicted. Her Grandmother looked stern and regal by her stance, but still strong and fiery by the tilt of her chin and glint in her eye.

Ciri used to come look at the portrait while her Grandmother went away for days or weeks at a time, especially if she was heading into battle. It wasn't the same as having her home, of course, but seeing the confident smirk on her Grandmother's painted lips helped convince Ciri that she would come back, like she promised she always would.

_"A lioness never abandons her pride."_

A portrait of her mother hung next it. It wasn't nearly as grand as the other paintings, or as large. But the image of the pale, ashen-haired princess still stood out against the stone wall and rows of kings. Her smile was small but soft, and her eyes twinkled just as Ciri remembered.

It became harder to picture her face as the years went on without looking at the painting for reference. But that never bothered Ciri before. She always figured the painting would be there for her to look at; that she would never have to leave Cintra.

Maybe that's why she was staring at it for so long now. She wouldn't get to see it again.

"You two look quite alike."

Ciri whipped around and felt her mouth go dry. The Feathered Knight stood before her with a hand on his hilt and a horrible grin on his face. His gaze didn't linger on her for long. He took a step closer and glanced up at the portrait.

"She was beautiful. It's a shame she didn't live long enough to see you grow. All the power you possess," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. It felt as heavy as lead. "She'll be glad to know it didn't go to waste."

Ciri's heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears. She ducked away from the Feathered Knight and threw his hand off of her, turned on her heel and tore down the hall and through an open door, not daring to look back.

She kept running, twisting and turning through the castle's many hallways and passageways. It didn't matter that her breaths were coming out in gasps and her legs were burning. Ciri had to get away from him.

She was nearly at the castle's grand front entrance when she finally started to feel some of the panic leave her chest. The door was already cracked open, letting in a bright ray of light. Her hand reached out to grab the handle and pull it open more so she could slip through and escape the Feathered Knight when she suddenly felt a hand grab her ankle and pull her to the ground.

Her back hit the cold stone with a thud. Rolling to the side to see what had yanked her down, she nearly screamed when her eyes fell on the dead body of the dwarf from the Cintran camp. His eyes were still lifeless and his skin was gray and rotted, but his jaw hung open and his grasp on her ankle was painfully tight.

"I believe you have something that belongs to him," the Feathered Knight said from behind her. She looked up and found him pointing down at her feet.

His boots.

The dwarf tugged on her foot and one of his empty, dark eyes fell from his head. She felt bile start to rise in her throat. Feeling the need to flee the palace even more than she had before, Ciri tried to yank her foot from his grasp and crawl toward the door.

His grip was so tight that she yelped in pain. Ciri kept trying to get away, but the more she struggled, the harder he held onto her. She only stopped trying to get out of his grasp when the sound of a steel blade being pulled from its sheath sliced through the air.

"It looks like he'll have to do this the hard way," the Feathered Knight said, eerily calm.

Ciri looked back when she felt the dwarf crawl onto her legs. A sharp, glistening dagger was in his hand and his movements were swift. Before she could process what was going on, he was on top of her chest and plunging the blade down toward her throat.

She shut her eyes and let out a long, piercing scream.

_"Ciri!"_

The weight on her chest began to fade and two sturdy hands grasped her shoulders, but she kept screaming.

_"CIRI!"_

Her eyes shot open and landed on Geralt as he knelt beside her, a hand firmly on each of her shoulders. His hair was windswept and his expression was tense, like he had just seen a ghost. Ciri shot up and he let go of her. Her breaths were ragged and her chest ached from the panic that swirled inside of it.

Lurching forward, she grabbed at the laces on one of her boots with shaky fingers and tried to undo the knot as quickly as she could. When it refused to budge, partly because her fingers were too jittery and slick with sweat to keep a grip on the lace, she let out a sob and tried to yank the boot off her foot.

Geralt moved in front of her and grabbed her hands with a firm but gentle grip to still them.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"His boots - the dwarf. I need to...," she trailed off, her sobs becoming too much to speak through. She leaned forward slightly and bowed her head as tears flooded her cheeks.

The image of the dwarf moving toward her with a knife pointed at her neck and the Feathered Knight smirking at the painting of her mother played over and over in her head as she gasped for breath in between sobs. She felt a hand on her back and looked up at Geralt through blurry vision.

Ciri threw herself at his chest and tears continued to stream down her face. Geralt went rigid at first, his torso stiff with tension. But after a moment, he wrapped his arms around her shaking form and pulled her tightly against him, one hand cradling her head and an arm wrapped around her back.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that before her sobs started to subside. Slowly, her breathing began to calm and she drifted back to sleep with her tear-stained cheek pressed against Geralt's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That was the longest one yet - poor Ciri. Comments and kudos always appreciated!


	9. The Nightmare - Part 2

Geralt took a deep breath as a soft breeze blew over their camp. He straightened his back while he sat cross legged, feeling some of the tension in his spine flow away. But his muscles were still tight as he tuned into the forest around him, his ears twitching just the slightest bit each time a rabbit scampered across the mossy ground or a tree branch rustled in the wind.

He cursed himself for not getting some sleep the night before. He was going on the fifth day without having any rest other than meditating, and while he'd gone on for much longer before, it wasn't ideal. He didn't want to be slow, even if only the slightest bit, if they were attacked by another monster or ran into another group of soldiers.

He breathed deeply again as he tried to relax. He'd been tense since he first smelled the rot coming from the dead travelers, even more so after he'd seen Ciri slumped against the ground with blood splattered across the front of her dress and a monster dead beside her, its claw still outstretched like it was going to slice into her small body.

His heart had thudded violently against his chest as he ran toward her. Only when he saw that she was truly unharmed, if a bit frightened, did he feel like he was able to breathe again.

A stronger gust of wind blew against him and he slowly opened his eyes. Seeing that the fire wasn't much more than a pile of burning embers, he released a burst of igni. The charred wood crackled when the small flames came back to life.

Jaskier shifted slightly on the ground across from him, rolling onto his right shoulder while flinging his left arm up from his side to tuck under his head. The bard let out another soft snore and he grumbled something in his sleep that even Geralt couldn't make out.

He was glad Jaskier agreed to join them. He wouldn't admit it, but he missed the bard's cheery disposition and the way he could effortlessly keep a conversation going, especially when Geralt couldn't.

Geralt knew he wasn't much of conversationalist. That was a given. He'd done his best to keep up with Ciri's questions and always let her know where they were and how much longer they had left before they could stop. He even tried to entertain her with a few stories of past contracts that weren't especially gory or grotesque.

She always seemed interested in what he said and never looked nervous or put off when they rode in silence, but he was glad to see her smile at Jaskier's jokes and songs. She didn't smile enough for someone so young.

Wisps of his hair started to lift off of his shoulders and blow in his face. He looked up and saw thousands of stars speckled across the deep blue sky. Not a cloud was in sight.

He hadn't felt any shift in the weather, nor had he heard or felt any strong winds until now. But the gusts were getting faster, and he watched as the flames of their small fire flickered against the wind before being snuffed out altogether. Geralt stood and put an arm up to shield his face from the dirt that swirled in the air. The horses began to ninny and one of their bags rolled several feet before it landed against the side of Jaskier's head.

The bard jerked up from his sleep and clutched at his head. He ducked when a stray branch nearly smacked him in the face.

"Geralt! What's going on?" he said, raising his voice over the racing winds. Geralt braced himself against the gusts and reached for one of his swords. He let his hand fall when he heard soft whimpers coming from across the makeshift fire pit.

Ciri was laying on her side with her legs pulled up to her chest and her back to Geralt. Her small form was shaking as the wind swirled around them, carrying the sound of soft cries that were growing more strained with each of her ragged breaths.

He stepped forward and was about to close the space between them when she suddenly let out a hoarse, terrified scream that sent him tumbling to the ground. He saw Jaskier clutch at the dirt as the wind pushed him across the forest floor. Their few items, along with the wood from their campfire, shot through the air and into the treeline. Geralt grunted and forced himself to keep moving on his hands and knees, bracing as another gust pushed him back.

Her scream started to fade and the wind calmed. He moved forward as fast as he could and dropped to her side. Ciri was quiet, aside from her labored breaths and small whimpers. Geralt quickly grabbed her shoulders and turned her over to face him. It felt like a weight dropped into his chest when he saw tears streaming down her face. Her eyelids fluttered madly as they stay shut, and her eyebrows were furrowed tightly together in fear.

He thought it was over, before she suddenly opened her mouth again and let another raw scream.

Geralt kept a firm grip on her as a burst of wind started swirling wildly around them once more. He expected to be sent flying backwards like before. Instead, he was still kneeling at her side with no more than a few strands of hair blowing in the wind as the chaos exploded around them.

"Ciri!" he said, shaking her gently.

She kept screaming. Geralt heard the horses screech when they were pushed back into a patch of bushes, and Jaskier was holding onto the trunk of a wide tree as the wind blew hard against him. Looking back down at the girl, he shook her harder and grunted, the weight in his chest feeling heavier and heavier each moment the scream pierced the air.

"CIRI!" he yelled.

Her eyes shot open and the wind died down. Aside from the gasping breaths that shook her frame, Ciri was completely still as she stared at him through green, tear-filled eyes. Just as he started to feel the weight lift from his chest, she suddenly jerked forward.

Geralt let go of her and watched as she desperately tried to undo the lace on her worn leather boot with clumsy fingers. He felt totally unsure of what he should do. Only when she tried to yank the boot off her foot so hard that he thought she might hurt her ankle did he lean forward and grab her hands without a second thought.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Ciri looked up at him and blubbered something about a dwarf and her boots, confusing him even more. After a moment, she curled into herself and started sobbing.

Geralt felt frozen as the girl in front of him continued to cry. His chest ached as he watched her shake, but he stayed still, afraid that he might upset her more if he did the wrong thing.

The weight settled deeper in his chest as she cried. When he couldn't take seeing her so distraught a moment longer, he slowly reached an arm out and carefully laid his hand on her trembling back.

Ciri grew silent and looked up at him. Before he could try to think of what to do or say next, she threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around his waist, releasing a fresh round of sobs.

Geralt was still at first as she cried into his chest. He looked around at the campsite that had been cleared away by her screams; by whatever had upset her so deeply that all he could sense was fear and pain radiating off of her. Feeling a sudden, desperate urge to take some of that pain and fear away, Geralt wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly against him.

He didn't know how long he knelt on the ground with her in his arms, but he didn't care. The more she calmed, the more his chest seemed to settle. He let out a deep sigh when he felt her breathing become steady and she drifted back into a much more peaceful sleep, looking up only when he heard footsteps approaching them.

"Well, that was... something," Jaskier sighed, stopping beside Geralt. His hair stuck up in every direction and his tan shirt was half untucked, its collar sitting askew near his shoulder. "Has that happened before?"

The witcher shook his head. "She had a nightmare at the inn. Nothing like this."

Geralt looked back down at Ciri. He had felt some sort of energy radiate off her that night at the inn, but it seemed like the usual small burst of fear that came with bad dreams more than anything else. He knew the feeling well. It wasn't pleasant, but it didn't stay long.

This seemed different, like the pure terror that emanates from an animal when it realizes it won't escape a hunter's blade. Even now, as she rested in his arms, he could sense unease radiating off her.

"It felt like what happened with Pavetta, but worse," Jaskier sighed, kneeling down next to them. "Different circumstances, I suppose."

"Hmm," Geralt grunted. Different circumstances, indeed.

* * *

It was well past sunrise when Ciri started to stir against Geralt's side, though still early enough in the morning that the sun remained hidden below the treeline and the birds' songs were still ringing through the forest.

He shifted her so they were leaning against a tree not long after she'd gone to sleep. He was going to lay her back down on the ground - the last thing she needed was a crick in her neck from being hunched up all night - but when he tried to move away, she'd just held onto him tighter. He couldn't say he minded.

Jaskier had gone to pick winter berries for breakfast. They weren't quite in season yet, but Geralt had seen a few patches of them during his hunt the night before. It would be a meager breakfast, but still better than nothing.

"Geralt?" He looked down at the girl pressed against his side. "Did I... did it happen again?"

He stared into Ciri's wide green eyes and nodded. Her mouth pulled into a thin line and she slipped out from under his arm so she could face him better.

"Are you hurt? Is Jaskier alright? What about the horses?" she said, panic starting to edge into her voice. Geralt sat up straighter.

"We're all fine," he said. "No one's hurt."

Ciri seemed to calm slightly at that, but not by much. He watched as she turned around and stared at their camp, or what was left of it. Jaskier had gathered their things back together and built a new fire, but it was clear that Ciri's windstorm had made its way through. The trees closest to them were practically bare, with some of their leaves piled together against the few wide rocks that littered the ground, and the forest floor was barren of anything except the dirt that had been swept into wide, circular patterns by her swirling gusts.

Geralt had seen that stare in boys at Kaer Morhen many times before. It was the kind that came out when terrible thoughts spun through a mind that couldn't quite figure out how to process them.

Jaskier appeared through the trees and quickly made his way over to them, plopping down in front of Ciri with a bundle of berries in his hand.

"Good morning, Ciri! How are you feeling?" he asked, sitting so he was cross legged in front of her.

"Fine," she said. "I'm sorry if I startled you at all. I had a... bad dream."

Jaskier smiled softly. "You have nothing to apologize for, dear. I've had dreams feel so vivid before that it was nearly impossible to know what was real and what wasn't. Nightmares, too," he sighed. "It's perfectly normal."

"I don't know if normal is the word. Nothing about this situation is normal," she huffed. "How many people have you heard of get chased across the continent by a feather-headed freak and his army, and not even know why?"

"Who's the feather-headed freak?" Jaskier asked.

"I don't know, just that he's a Nilfgaard solider. He almost captured me the night they attacked. I saw him again at a Cintran refugee camp not long after," she said. "We haven't crossed paths since. Not in person, at least."

"Was he in your dream last night?" Geralt asked.

Ciri nodded but stayed quiet. Geralt wanted to ask her what frightened her so badly in the dream - if he was going to protect her from Nilfgaard, and anything else that hurt her, he needed to know where to start. But he couldn't quite form the words and was glad when Jaskier gently spoke up.

"What happened during it?"

She shifted slightly and kept her eyes on the ground. "He was chasing me through the castle. I almost got out, but... I didn't. A dwarf grabbed my ankle and pulled me to the floor. He was about to stab me when I woke up," she took a deep breath.

"That sounds awful," Jaskier said. "Though that's the first time I've ever heard of a dwarf in the Cintran castle."

"I didn't know there were any in Cintra until I found the refugee camp. He was a servant to a noble family. The wife made him give me his boots because my slippers were nearly destroyed," she paused for a moment and swallowed hard. Geralt could see her eyes start to water. "When I saw his body yesterday, his poor feet were so... I just- I feel so guilty," she choked out the last words and a tear ran down her cheek. Jaskier scooted forward and put an arm around her.

"That wasn't your fault, love," he said, rubbing her shoulder. "That woman made him do it. Not you. If you blame yourself for the sins of others, the weight of the whole world will fall on your shoulders. And wrongly so."

Ciri shook her head. "Nilfgaard started this war because of me. He died because of me. Grandmother, Grandfather - they all did," she kept her eyes firmly on the ground in front of her. Her voice was just barely above a whisper when she spoke again. "I miss them so much."

She turned and buried her face into Jaskier's shoulder as her own started to shake. The bard pulled her into a tight hug and looked up at Geralt with soft, sad eyes.

They stayed like that for a while, with Geralt's chest feeling heavier each moment. He knew loss well. Every witcher was built upon it.

"The pain will feel less as time goes on, even if it never goes away," he said. She sat up and looked at him with red eyes.

"And what if it feels worse?"

Geralt shook his head slightly. "It won't."

Ciri was quiet as she looked back down at the ground. After a moment, she rolled her hand into her sleeve, wiped her eyes dry, and glanced over at the small pouch of berries on the ground next to Jaskier.

"Could I have some?" she asked, clearing her throat. Jaskier smiled.

"Of course love," he said and handed her the bag. She reached her hand in, but paused before she pulled a handful of berries out.

"Thank you," she said, looking between them. Jaskier's grin widened and Geralt felt a small smile tug at his own lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more angst before we speed it up (they have to get to Kaer Mohren at some point!) I don't usually like to double back and show another character's perspective of the same thing, but it felt right in this case. Thanks for the support - as always, comments and kudos appreciated!


	10. The Shop

"No."

"Oh come now, Geralt. Do you expect her to go the winter with a single dress and an over-sized cloak? Which, by the way, you'll need yourself once we reach the mountains."

Ciri sat cross legged on the ground next to the fire as Jaskier stood in front of Geralt. An increasingly annoyed expression was settling onto the witcher's face as he leaned against the trunk of a large oak tree while sharpening his sword with a whetstone, and Jaskier didn't look much happier.

They had been arguing on and off about whether or not to let Ciri go into the village nearby with Jaskier since he had first broached the subject during dinner last night. The village was a short ride away from where they had stopped, and Geralt and Jaskier both agreed they needed to stock up on supplies now that they were less than three days away from the start of the steep trail that led to Kaer Morhen and the cold had finally set in.

Ciri had slept sandwiched between Geralt and Jaskier for the past several nights. Her cloak had been warm enough when she and Geralt had first set out, but now the cold managed to seep into her bones no matter how tightly she wrapped the fabric around her. She wouldn't mind another layer to bundle under.

"I never said you couldn't go alone," Geralt grunted, looking down as he worked on the blade. "You can get her some clothes while you're there."

"But Geralt-" Jaskier started before he was cut off by the witcher.

"No," Geralt snapped, his sharp tone sending a surprised jolt up Ciri's spine. His eyes turned back down to the sword in his hand and he started rubbing it again. Jaskier didn't seem phased.

"I agree you two need to keep out of sight as much as possible, especially with your glowing, witchery eyes being a dead giveaway as to who you are. And I remember how poorly it went the last time you were in public," Jaskier huffed. "But there are certain things a young lady should get herself, unless you want to come with me and pick out her undergarments for her."

Geralt's hand stopped mid stroke as he rubbed the whetstone over the blade, and Ciri felt heat start to rise in her cheeks. Neither of them attempted to fill the uncomfortable silence that suddenly settled over their camp.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Jaskier crossed his arms. "Ciri, what would you prefer?"

Ciri shifted in her spot on the forest floor. She wanted to keep as far away from villages as possible; even farther away from the people who lived in them. It was clear at this point that running into others, dead or alive, meant some sort of trouble. But the thought of Geralt or Jaskier having to buy her small clothes was slightly mortifying.

"Well, when you put it like that... I suppose I don't mind going along."

Jaskier clapped his hands together and flashed a triumphant, smug grin at Geralt, who was nearly glaring at the bard.

"Fine," Geralt grunted. "But I'll be close by."

* * *

Ciri tugged the hood of her cloak over her head when the huts and small shops came into view through the trees. It clearly wasn't a large village by any means, and the plaster walls and thatched roofs seemed like they had seen better days even from here. She just hoped it was as empty as it was sad.

Geralt stopped beside her. She watched him scan the village with his his sharp, piercing gaze.

"I'll be here," he said, leaning back against a tree. "Yell if-"

"-we need any help, I know, Geralt," Jaskier said. "Though I'm more worried about you traipsing into trouble. I saw a crow give you some pretty mean side-eye just a moment ago, and I don't want to have to run back here to break up any fights."

Geralt stared at Jaskier for a moment before he grunted and looked away. "Just be quick."

Jaskier smiled and turned toward the village. Ciri fell in step by his side as they neared the buildings, and her gut started to feel like it was doing somersaults again.

She doubted anyone here would notice her, or that any of them were Nilfgaard soldiers. They hadn't seen another person since they found the dead travelers more than a week ago, and Geralt said there was a very slim chance the army had somehow gotten ahead of them without them noticing. The road the trio had been riding on was the only main road in the region, and armies that large never traveled through tight paths in the forest.

It was reassuring, but it didn't mean her nerves were totally at ease. She took a deep, shaky breath when they arrived at the start of the village. Before she could convince herself to take a step forward, Jaskier gently wrapped his hand around her own.

"We'll be OK, Fiona," he winked. "Geralt may have his big scary swords to wave around, but I'm quite good with a blade myself, even if it's a bit smaller."

He subtly opened the front of his doublet and flashed a small knife that just barely peaked out from the inside of his breast pocket.

"I didn't know you had that," she said, quirking her eyebrow.

"Every bard needs a way to protect himself. You wouldn't believe how grabby a drunk fan can get. Or a sober fan," he bopped his head to the side. "Or how often I have to flee a tavern when the grabby people aren't fans."

"That's awful," Ciri said. "How often did you have to pull the blade on them?"

"Enough to know how to use it," he sighed. Ciri squeezed his hand.

"People are the worst."

He smiled. "Yes, they are. Now let's see what kind of people this village has before Geralt has a conniption over us being gone too long."

They made their way down the dirt road that ran through the small village. Most of the buildings were run-down homes with tiny trails of smoke trickling out of their stone chimneys. They only saw one woman and a little boy on the road as they walked. The boy, no older than four, by Ciri's guess, flashed a bashful smile when she caught his eye. She sent a small wave and felt some of the worry slowly start to leave her gut.

Jaskier stopped in front of a larger, but not much more grand, building in the center of town. Thick fur pelts hung in the window and an old wooden sign that read "Trading Post" hung from rusty hinges that were bolted to the stone front of the building.

She followed him into the shop and glanced around once they were inside. A warm fire glowed from a large hearth in one corner, while bolts of fabric, some housewares, and tools lined the walls.

"Good day, sir," a man called out from behind the counter at one corner of the room. His gray hair was tied back into a pony tail under his cap and he wore a large apron over his clothes. The small crows feet at the corner of his eyes crinkled when he smiled at Ciri. "And miss. What can I help you with today?"

"We're on our way to visit my sister, but we lost our bag and need some new clothes. And blankets, if you have any," Jaskier said.

"That's a shame. We had some bandits wreak havoc on our townsfolk a few winters back," he shook his head. "Hope they haven't returned."

"The only problem in these woods is how clumsy my father is, sir," Ciri said. "We'd still have our belongings if he hadn't knocked our bag in the river and missed seeing it float downstream when he was trying to fish."

She noticed a small smirk tug at the corner of Jaskier's mouth.

"As if this one wasn't lounging about as it happened," he said. The man snorted.

"Sounds like my own girl. The same one who should have been back from her break already," he stepped back and opened the small wooden door behind the counter. "Lena! Get in 'ere!" he yelled.

A girl with a long orange braid swinging down her back and more freckles dotting her face than Ciri could even attempt to count quickly slipped through the doorway. She looked to be about Ciri's age and rubbed her dirty hands on an even dirtier apron when she stopped beside the shopkeeper.

"Sorry, Gran was telling a really good story and-" the girl started, but was cut off by her father.

"It's fine. Just show this girl where the dresses are," he sighed. Lena moved around the counter and smiled sweetly at Ciri.

Jaskier nudged Ciri and she looked up at him. "Get whatever you need. Don't worry about the cost," he said quiet enough so the shopkeeper and his daughter couldn't hear. She nodded and stepped forward.

"The dresses are over in the corner," Lena said, still grinning. Ciri smiled back and followed her as she made her way to a table of clothes in the back corner.

Ciri stopped in front of the table and ran her hand over some of the fabrics. There wasn't much to choose from, but the dresses were soft and they looked well made.

"Pa doesn't usually sell much of this stuff," Lena said, picking up one of the dresses and holding it up against Ciri. Lena pursed her lips and put it back on the table. "He mostly uses them to trade for meat and fur the hunters bring in. I help Ma make them."

"They're beautiful," Ciri said, admiring a deep green one with embroidered flowers on its front.

"Thanks, though it's quite boring work. I'd rather help my brother make the weapons and tools we sell. Pa got him his own forge," Lena smiled and picked up the green dress Ciri was eyeing. "This one would be perfect for you! Ma used my measurements to make it, so it should fit you good. And it goes perfectly with your eyes! What I wouldn't give to have eyes like yours, or your hair. My brother says mine looks like a rag that was used to sop up pumpkin juice. It stands out wherever I go."

"That's not a bad thing," Ciri said. "It makes you more interesting. And your brother is just teasing - your hair is very pretty. It reminds me of a story about a warrior I used to hear."

"I know the one, Gran used to tell it all the time," Lena smiled as she looked through the clothes on the table. "Elinor of Temeria would ride out to battle with the sun shining off her orange hair so brightly that it looked like she had been kissed by fire. It's one of Gran's favorites, though she tells more stories about monsters now. My little brother likes them best. I prefer one's about battles and knights more, but I'm happy with any story from Gran."

Ciri felt her throat tighten. "I bet."

Lena reached for a deep blue dress. "This one would be nice on you, too," she said, but Ciri shook her head.

"I think I'll just take the green one. Where are the breeches and tunics?" she asked. If she was going to train with Geralt, she would need pants that actually fit. The ones he let her borrow threatened to fall down every time she stood up, even after she knotted them four times at the waste.

"Your Pa's OK with that?" Lena asked, dropping her voice. Ciri swallowed and started to form an explanation in her head, but was cut off when Lena flashed a bright grin. "You're so lucky! What I wouldn't give to be able to wear something other than these heavy skirts. I used to sneak out in my brother's pants to go play in the woods before breakfast when I was little, but Ma caught me one day and had a fit."

"Father says they're easier to travel in," Ciri shrugged, following the girl to another table.

She picked out two tan cotton shirts and two pairs of brown trousers before Lena helped her find undergarments, stockings, a night shift, and a new comb. Ciri had been doing her best to detangle the knots in her hair with her fingers every night, but it was still starting to look a bit like a lion's mane, fitting as that was.

Jaskier was chatting with the shopkeeper at the counter when she was done. Several blankets and a sack of what Ciri guessed to be food sat atop two cloaks on the counter, with a bag of horse feed next to it. She placed her pile of goods on the other side of it.

"All set?" the shopkeeper asked.

"Yes- wait, actually, there's one more thing," Jaskier said. "Do you have any sturdy shoes that might fit her? My sister has a daughter about Fiona's age that could probably use a new pair."

The shopkeeper looked down at Ciri's feet and nodded.

"Aye, these might do," he reached under the counter and pulled out a dark brown pair of leather boots. "I'll take 20 crowns for them."

"Father, I don't think she needs them," Ciri said, quickly catching on to what Jaskier was doing. "I'm sure her old ones fit fine, we can't afford-"

"Nonsense dear, what kind of uncle would I be if I couldn't buy her something nice every now and then? Try them on to see if they might fit her."

Ciri sighed and picked up the shoes. Undoing her laces and slipping off her boots, she pulled the new ones on and wiggled her toes inside of them. They would need to be broken in a bit, but she didn't think they were too snug or too big. They were definitely better than the ones she had been wearing. The dwarf's boots weren't huge, but she did feel her feet slide in them a bit when she ran.

"How do they feel?" Jaskier asked.

"Good. Better than her old ones, I'm sure," she said and tugged the boot off. The shopkeeper told Jaskier the total and the bard dug out a coin pouch from his pocket. It was practically empty when he was done counting out what they owed.

Lena used burlap to wrap their goods into two separate bundles and grinned at Ciri when she pushed them forward.

"It was nice meeting you, Fiona!" she said. Ciri smiled back as she took one of the bundles.

She followed Jaskier out of the store and down the road. The sun was starting to set and the sky was painted with hues of pink, yellow, and a shade of orange that reminded Ciri of Lena's hair.

"Thank you for the boots," she said after they had passed the last building in the village. "I suppose these ones are getting a bit worn down."

"Of course, dear. Consider it a fresh start of sorts," he said and draped his arm over her shoulder. "Though don't thank only me. I wouldn't have all that coin if it weren't for the nobleman I beat in a game of Gwent in Vizima."

"Then thank you to that nobleman in Vizima," she laughed.

They found Geralt in the same spot where they left him, only this time he was staring idly at the trees instead of down at his sword, which was unsheathed by his side.

"Any trouble?" he asked.

"Well, we were both gutted by wild boars and our remains were feasted on by strigas, but other than that I'd say we're alright," Jaskier said as he stopped in front of him.

"Hmm," Geralt grunted. "Come on. There's a cave not far from here."

He took the bundle from Ciri and grabbed Roach's reins. Jaskier took hold of Juniper's, and Ciri followed the two men and their horses until it was nearly dark. The cave was tucked behind a dense cluster of trees and brush, and was just big enough to fit them all without it being uncomfortable.

Ciri helped Jaskier collect wood for the fire and sat down on one of their new blankets after to keep the cave's cold stone floor from freezing her bottom. She tugged off her old boots and replaced them with her new pair.

She saw Geralt look over at her before he glanced at Jaskier, who flashed a smile at the witcher as she adjusted the laces. The leather was stiff and just tight enough that it made her feet the slightest bit uncomfortable, but she knew they would feel better with time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update that isn't (at least) a week a part from the last one? Impressing myself here lol. I had no idea where this fic was going to go or how long it would be when I first started it, but I just finished an outline of the whole story and glad to say there is a lot more coming! I'm really enjoying exploring these characters, and hope you are too!


	11. The Storm

Looking up at the mountains when they first emerged from the forest was one of the most beautiful things Ciri had ever seen. They were incredibly grand yet rugged, and loomed over the trees with power while still emanating a numbing air of peacefulness.

Jaskier stopped beside her and put his hands on his hips, staring at the mountains with squinted eyes to block out the sun that was beaming down on his face.

"Wow. Who knew Geralt would spend his winters brooding in a place so... poetic," he said. "What I wouldn't give to have an afternoon out here writing. Look at all this inspiration!" he smiled. The witcher grunted from behind him as he gave the horses grain. Ciri noticed how he let Roach eat an extra handful from his palm before he tied the bag back up.

"Don't expect it to be now. We need to keep going," Geralt said.

Ciri stepped forward and rubbed a hand down Roach's snout as Geralt adjusted the bags that were tied to her saddle. "But don't you want a new song for the road, Geralt? I know you liked the one Jaskier wrote about you yesterday."

"Ahh yes, who would have thought Geralt getting bested by a tree branch could be just the tale I needed for my next hit?" Jaskier smiled. "It's a bit of an odd topic for a jig, I'll admit. But there's nothing quite like seeing a big bad witcher getting smacked liked that in the face."

"If you weren't distracting me I would have seen it," Geralt grunted.

"Distracting you?" Jaskier scoffed. "You were the one who turned to yell at me!"

Geralt looked over at the bard with a straight face. "Your cloak was in the campfire."

"Just the hem," Jaskier said as he batted the air with his hand. "I would have noticed and snuffed out any flames on it soon enough."

"Hmm."

"I think we should get to hear the song again since Jaskier's performance was cut short," Ciri smirked.

"Don't encourage him," Geralt grunted as he finished packing up. "And don't sing," he said, stopping Jaskier just as he went to open his mouth. The bard shook his head before he mounted Juniper.

Ciri pulled herself onto Roach and took a deep breath once they started moving again. The air was crisp, filling her lungs with a refreshing chill as she stared up at the mountains ahead.

Their journey up the narrow paths hadn't been too tough at first. A light layer of powdered snow coated the rocks, branches of barren trees, and frozen ground they passed. While it was cold, Ciri's new cloak had kept out the worst of it.

Now, two days after they'd started up the mountain and hours after they had stopped for lunch, the winds were so harsh that she had her hood pulled tightly around her face to keep the stinging gusts from slapping against her cheeks. The road had been flat for the last mile or so but the snow had made it harder to see where the trail stopped and dropped off to the rugged forest floor.

Her feet felt frozen in her boots despite the extra pairs of socks she had put on that morning. The snow was falling so hard that the flakes were beginning to freeze to the heavy blanket that was wrapped around her and Jaskier.

Geralt had insisted they ride together to help keep warm once they set out early that morning, saying the cold didn't bother him as much as it did them. The snow was so fast that she couldn't see five feet in front of her, making Geralt's large form faded and blurry even though he was just ahead of her and Jaskier. She peered out from behind her hood and looked over at the witcher, who was bent slightly against the wind but still didn't appear totally uncomfortable as he sat atop Roach.

The same couldn't be said for Jaskier. The bard shivered against her every time the wind picked up. He had two arms wrapped tightly around her as her hands, which were bundled in gloves he'd gotten her at the shop, were clutched together under her cloak. No matter how much they pressed against each other or how many layers she put on, she still felt frozen.

Even worse, she was too cold and exhausted to try to have a conversation with Jaskier to pass the time or distract herself from the storm for even a moment. By how tightly pursed the bard's lips were as the cold whipped his face, it was clear he felt the same.

She was rubbing her hands together when Juniper suddenly let out a horrified screech and tumbled forward, landing hard on her front legs and jerking wildly as snow suddenly came up to her neck and covered Ciri's feet and calves. 

Jaskier tried to pull on the horse's reins to calm her, but the mare kept falling against the ground with hard thuds and further into the large snow drift they had somehow fallen into each time she jerked. Ciri's heart dropped to her stomach and she clutched Jaskier as the snow slid down from the tall sides of the drift. It quickly came up to her waist and was still flowing steadily when she felt a burst of something too powerful to be wind clear the snow from around them.

Geralt was beside them in seconds, grabbing the reins from Jaskier and putting his large hands on Juniper's neck to calm her. The horse finally started to steady and Ciri felt Jaskier loosen his grip around her the slightest bit.

After she stilled, Geralt tugged on Juniper's reins to lead them back onto the road. The horse took a step but faltered, her breathing growing heavy and her feet starting to shuffle again.

"What's wrong?" Jaskier called out over the wind.

"She hurt her leg," Geralt yelled back. He moved closer to them and kept a hand on the horse's neck. "Get on Roach. I'll lead Juniper and clear the road."

Jaskier slid off the horse and Ciri hopped down beside him. She held on tightly to Jaskier's hand as he tugged her through the snow and helped her onto Roach.

Geralt pulled on Juniper's reins and the horse slowly treaded forward. She was limping slightly but seemed to move a bit better with their weight off her back.

"I think we need to stop soon," Jaskier yelled over the storm. "This doesn't seem to be letting up!"

Ciri saw Geralt's golden eyes glance over at them through the beating streams of snow. His mouth was set in a thin line.

"We'll go a little longer. I don't want to get stuck in the storm," he answered.

Ciri shuddered. "I think it's a little late for that."

"You said it," Jaskier said through chattering teeth.

The snow didn't slow at all as they kept slowly ascending up the side of the mountain. Ciri did her best to focus on any part of her body that wasn't freezing and kept the flaps of her hood pressed tightly against her cheeks. She found herself watching Geralt out of the corner of her eye when she didn't have them shut to keep out the more fierce gusts of wind.

The witcher was bent against the wind but steady as he pushed forward, one hand holding onto Juniper's reins, the other moving in small signs to blast away the piles of snow that had filled the trail. He didn't waiver when the wind got worse or the snow got deeper, and only stopped when Juniper started to fall back and seemed to be limping more than she had before.

Ciri had almost expected Geralt to leave the mare behind when he first said she was injured. Grandmother got rid of her horses the minute they started to show signs of old age or began to slow, always insisting that a horse just short of perfect condition was as useless as one with a missing leg. But Geralt had turned back to Juniper as she started to slow down. Ciri watched as he ran a hand down her neck and leaned toward her. She thought he might have said something quietly to the horse, but couldn't quite tell through the blindingly thick snow and roaring winds.

Juniper seemed to be trotting a bit better when Geralt walked forward again and pulled on her reins. They continued on for what felt like hours before Geralt finally started to slow from his steady pace. Dusk had settled over the mountains and small pangs of hunger began rumbling in her stomach. She was beyond glad when Geralt led Juniper off the trail and Jaskier followed.

They didn't wander through the trees for long before they approached a cave carved into the mountain side. Geralt led the horses inside and Ciri let out a small sigh of relief when she finally felt the last of the beating winds against her back.

She got off Roach and helped Jaskier take off the bags from Roach's saddle with her freezing hands. The bard grabbed a roll of gauze and a water skin from his pack and knelt beside Juniper, who had a long gash running down the side of her front right leg. Jaskier poured some water on the wound and gently started wrapping it with the gauze, pausing only when the horse stepped back at first.

"How did you know there was a cave here?" she turned to face Geralt while he pulled out some wood from one of the bags. He insisted that they gather some twigs and branches before they set out that morning. It was a good idea; any firewood they could have used was currently buried beneath deep drifts of snow outside the cave.

"I heard the bats," he said, nodding toward the back of the cave. Ciri heard a small flutter of wings and looked up. Two glowing pairs of eyes stared back at her.

"You really do have good hearing," she said.

Geralt didn't respond as he sat down on the ground with a heavy thud. He stacked the wood and set it ablaze. His eyelids drooped slightly as he let out a heavy breath and rested his head against the cave's stone wall, his shoulders slumped and strands of hair sticking out in odd directions after hours of being blown about by the wind.

Ciri sat down next to him and leaned back against the cave wall. She smiled softly at Jaskier when he handed each of them several peaces of salted jerky they had picked up at the shop.

"Is it always this horrible getting to Kaer Morhen or is your witcher mountain just putting on a show because it hates guests?" Jaskier said as he plopped down on the other side of Ciri and stuck his hands out toward the fire. She planned to do the same once she finished scarfing down the jerky.

"Guess so. Haven't been caught in something like this in years," Geralt grunted.

"Sounds about right with our luck," Jaskier sighed. "Do you think we're far still?"

"We'll get there tomorrow," Geralt shrugged. "Probably."

"Probably as in we might not make it until the next day or probably as in we might not... make it," Jaskier said. Ciri's eyes widened slightly.

Geralt turned his head and looked at him, his lips still pulled tight. "What do you think?"

"Well I don't know! It's worth asking considering how many times I've nearly died with you. First there was Filavandrel, then all the times I was nearly stabbed for sticking up for you when you got cheated on a contract-"

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"- and we can't forget Yennefer with that bloody djinn."

Ciri sat up straighter. "You know Yennefer?"

"Sadly. You should have seen her with that thing. That witch nearly killed us both and-"

"We're not talking about this right now," Geralt snapped, cutting off Jaskier. 

The bard pursed his lips and was quiet for a moment before he looked down at Ciri. "Important thing to know about Geralt; he gets cranky when he's tired," he whispered.

"I'm not cranky," Geralt grunted.

"Right, and I'm not the greatest - and most handsome - bard on the continent," Jaskier smirked.

"Hmm. Get some beauty sleep then, we're moving out early."

Geralt looked away from them and closed his eyes. His jaw was tense and he had his cloak pulled tightly around him; his hands tucked tightly under his arms and the skin on his face looking like it had been rubbed raw by the storm. She believed him when he said the cold didn't affect him as much as it did her or Jaskier. But even as they sat away from the howling wind, and as she still shivered despite the fire in front of her, the cold was still settled deep in her bones. As much as he might try to deny it, Geralt didn't look much better than she felt.

Ciri shifted closer to the witcher and leaned against his side. She shivered slightly when her cheek pressed against the chilly fabric of his cloak, but she didn't shy away. He opened one eye and looked down at her. Without speaking, he shifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders.

The sound of the crackling flames and Jaskier chewing on the tough jerky helped drown out the wind that was beating against the side of the cave. She closed her eyes after staring at the fire for a moment, the flames' warmth starting to spread through her face to the rest of her body. Geralt's hold on her started to feel less tense as they sat there in the quiet. When she peaked her eye open, his face was more relaxed and color was starting to return to his pale cheeks.

Ciri felt Jaskier scoot closer to them after he was done with the jerky. He fell asleep almost immediately after, his quiet snores adding to the lull around her.

She thought of Kaer Morhen as she rested against Geralt. She wondered if the walls there were as tall as the ones in Cintra, what the view from her new room might be, and if the keep might start to feel like home. It sounded beautiful in a rugged sort of way by the few words Geralt had used to describe it, and seemed safer than anywhere else on the continent.

She supposed that was the most important thing at this point, but she was still excited to roam through new hallways and discover rooms that were undoubtedly filled with history she had never gotten to study in Cintra. Ciri wanted to learn as much about Geralt and his kind as she could, especially since destiny was so determined to link them together.

But part of her was still weary of what lie ahead. She wondered what the other witchers would be like - if they would welcome her or find her presence a burden. Ciri knew she was endangering them by going to Kaer Mohren. Their lives and home were at risk as long as an army was still on her tail.

Ignoring the worry that started to tug at her gut, Ciri settled further against Geralt and basked in the warmth coming from him now that he seemed less chilled from the storm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever get writers block on a filler chapter and have to work ungodly amounts of overtime? But still get the chapter out somehow? 
> 
> Thanks for the support! Kaer Mohren's coming next (finally!)


	12. The Witchers

Geralt took a deep breath when he first saw Kaer Morhen's crumbling walls against the mountainside. The scent of pine was heavy in the cold air as it filled his lungs and briefly relieved the ache that ran through his body.

His shoulders stung with a stiff soreness and his armor pressed down on his limbs in a way that made the metal feel like lead since they set out that morning. Clearing a path for the horses with Aard for hours on end had left him drained and sore by the time he had slumped down on the cave's cool floor last night.

Catching a few hours' rest had helped some of the soreness go away. Now, as their horses trotted up the overgrown path to the keep's large gates, he was starting to fatigue again. He was good at casting signs and had more stamina than most of the witchers he trained with. But using them as much as he had over the last day would drain even the best witcher.

He paused to suck in more air before casting another Aard to push away the snow in front of them. The storm had thankfully stopped overnight, though not before it dumped another two feet on the trail at least.

Geralt didn't stop to rest. Jaskier had suggested it several times, Ciri once, too. But the witcher wanted to get to Kaer Morhen as quickly as they could. Winter storms struck swiftly in the mountains. He didn't want to get stuck in another.

Even as he felt more tired, Geralt thought less about his tender muscles and more about what waited for them at the keep. He hadn't sent a letter to Vesemir about Ciri and Jaskier, not even one that said to expect him for the winter.

The old witcher wouldn't turn them away. Of that, Geralt was sure. But humans hadn't stepped foot inside the walls of Kaer Morhen in years - much less a bard and a young princess who was being chased by an entire empire for reasons he still didn't know.

Geralt looked over at the girl huddled under blankets on top of Roach. Her cheeks and nose were rosy from the wind that blew against them and her ashen hair was specked with snowflakes blown off of the snow banks that nearly reached her small feet.

Ciri had weathered their journey much better than he would have expected a young princess to. The nightmares were hard and there were still times where she seemed quiet and distant, even if those moments fled as quickly as they came. But she was pleasant and helped where she could.

He knew that even though they had reached safety, life would still be hard for her. Kaer Morhen was no place for a child, despite the hundreds of boys who had grown and died there over the centuries. The halls were cold and the work of keeping up the part of Kaer Morhen that still stood was endless. He had no doubt Vesemir would put her to work just as he would the boys he helped raised.

Geralt had just lifted his hand to blow away another pile of snow when he first heard footsteps crunching on the white landscape. He looked up to see a bulky, dark form with two swords strapped to his back approaching them.

"Geralt?" the voice called as a man - a witcher - moved so fast over the snow that he didn't have time for his feet to sink in.

The tall witcher with jet black hair slid effortlessly down the drift Geralt was about to blow away and stopped in front of them. He yanked Geralt into a quick embrace and patted him on the shoulder when they pulled away, a small smile tugging on the side of his face that wasn't streaked with nasty scars.

"Eskel. Good to see you."

"You too, Wolf. Vesemir said he hadn't heard from you, so we figured you weren't coming."

Geralt glanced over his shoulder at Jaskier and Ciri. Both looked curiously at Eskel from atop their horses.

"Change of plans," Geralt said. Eskel's eyes roamed over the bard and stopped briefly on the princess before looking back at Geralt.

"I see. Come, I'll help you clear the path."

They made their way to the keep's front gates within minutes now that two witchers were blasting away the drifts. The wide, ancient doors slowly creaked opened when Eskel raised his hand.

Geralt stepped into the courtyard and looked around at the dead vines and dusty stone that were illuminated by the last of the sun's rays. He hadn't been back to Kaer Morhen much in the last decade. While he had more bad memories than good of his childhood here, he still called it home. And he was glad to see it after the journey he'd been on.

"Look who decided to show his pretty face this year," a voice called out. A witcher with brown hair tied back into a ponytail and a scruffy beard cut close to his face hopped down from a battlement and ran toward him. Geralt gave him the same embrace he had welcomed Eskel with earlier.

"Lambert," Geralt nodded. The brown-haired witcher looked over Geralt's shoulder as he stepped back.

"What's this? I know a couple of shite songs made you famous, but I didn't think you had a fan club," he chuckled.

"Shite songs? I-" Jaskier started before Geralt interrupted him.

"Where's Vesemir? It would be easier to introduce you all at once."

"He's in the great hall," Lambert said. "I'm sure he'll want to hear what this is about."

"Leave the horses here. I'll bring them to the stables after," Eskel offered. Geralt nodded and grabbed Roach's reins, tying them to a nearby post. Jaskier hopped down from Juniper and did the same.

Ciri was too busy scanning the courtyard with her bright green eyes to notice when Geralt stopped next to her. He gently nudged her leg and outstretched a hand to her, which she used to steady herself with as she slid off Roach.

"Kaer Morhen is a lot bigger than I expected," she said, her eyes still roaming over the battered battlements and tall stone walls.

"Wait until you see the inside," Geralt said, grabbing their bags.

They followed Eskel and Lambert into the keep. The musty smell that wafted through the halls filled his nose, the scent unchanging since he'd last stepped inside Kaer Morhen.

Parts of the hallways seemed to have been repaired a bit. Pale plaster stuck out from between rocks that were otherwise held together by aging, dark grout. Several new beams of wood held up the ceiling in some parts and one small window even seemed to have had been replaced, the glass unwarped from the passing of time.

But other areas seemed worse. A small section of the stone flooring they passed had crumbled in to reveal one of the old apothecaries in the basement, while one wall had collapsed completely in the hallway that led to an armory that hadn't been used since before the sacking of Kaer Morhen. Large sections of dead vines had crept in through a shattered window and covered an entire wall near the library.

"Quite a place you have here, Geralt. Very... charming," Jaskier said as he stared up at a large bear pelt hanging from the wall. The beast had so many cobwebs strung between its yellow teeth that it almost looked like it was foaming at the mouth.

"Do you have something to say about our home, stranger?" Lambert said, turning around so his golden eyes were staring at Jaskier. Geralt fought back a small grin when he saw the bard gulp.

"Ah, I was just admiring the... lovely decor you have," Jaskier snorted nervously. "I especially enjoy the large tapestry there. The touch of blood in the middle really brings out the dirt lining the sides. Not that that's a bad thing!" he added quickly with wide eyes.

"Aye. Human blood does really liven this depressing dump up a bit," Lambert said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Jaskier paled a bit.

"Leave him be," Geralt said.

"What? He has nothing to worry about - we haven't decorated with anything from humans in three centuries at least."

This time the color drained from Ciri's face. Eskel must have noticed.

"He's kidding," he said, shoving Lambert and sending her a small smile. She relaxed a bit at that, but Geralt noticed how she moved an inch closer to him as they walked.

They reached the large but simple doors that led to the great hall. Lambert opened them and revealed a witcher with long, graying hair standing beside a sword he was was shining on a table big enough to fit at least 20 people. The flames from the large hearth behind him made his form stand out against an otherwise dark room. His glowing eyes landed on Geralt's first, but didn't linger on his tired face when he saw Jaskier and Ciri. The witcher slowly put down the oiled cloth in his hand on the table.

"It's about time you came home," Vesemir said, stepping forward and wrapping him in a brief but tight embrace. The small smile that had been on his lips faded. "Who are they?"

Geralt straightened up and stepped closer to his companions. "Vesemir, this is Julian Pankratz. He's a bard... a friend I've traveled with over the years."

"Just call me Jaskier, Ser Witcher," Jaskier grinned, giving a bow. Vesemir's brows furrowed.

"Stand up straight, boy. I'm no ser," he said. Jaskier quickly obeyed. "Is this the bard who wrote that damn song I hear about you every time I go down to the village?"

"The one and only," Jaskier smiled.

"See, he does have a fan club," Lambert muttered to Eskel, who chuckled in return.

"Damn thing gives me a headache every time. Alright, and you?" Vesemir grunted and stared down at Ciri. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"This is Cirilla," Geralt said. "My... child surprise."

The sound of the crackling flames inside the hearth and howling winds outside were suddenly the only thing any of them could hear.

"Fucking hell. Not another one," Lambert grunted. Eskel was frozen next to him, his gaze seemingly stuck on the girl who looked well aware of the sudden tension in the room.

Vesemir's jaw was tense and his eyes were stern when he looked back at Geralt.

"You better have a good explanation for this, Wolf."

"Go outside with Jaskier for a bit, Ciri. There's a library down the hall you can look through," Geralt said. Jaskier quickly grasped Ciri's shoulder and turned her toward the door.

"Let us know when you're done, or don't. We'll be there either way," Jaskier said.

Ciri looked like she wanted to speak, but Jaskier was guiding her out of the room before she could. Her concerned gaze was the last thing Geralt saw before the door slammed shut. He felt the three other witchers' heavy stares on him but kept his eyes on the stone hearth.

"You claimed the Law of Surprise? After I told you lot to stay away from that shite?"

"I didn't think it would result in a child," Geralt grunted. "I had no intention of claiming her-"

"You know that's not how the Law of Surprise works. Eskel could have told you as much," Lambert said, gesturing to the scarred witcher who was incredibly stiff beside him.

"Only a fool would shrug off destiny. I don't usually take you for a fool, Geralt," Vesemir grunted. He slumped down in one of the large creaky chairs near him. "I suppose it doesn't matter now," he sighed. "How'd you find yourself saddled with her?"

"I saved her father's life and he offered me the Law of Surprise," Geralt started. 'I never knew her until I went to take her away from Cintra before Nilfgaard invaded."

"I take it her family's dead then?" Vesemir mused.

Geralt nodded.

"She'll need to work if she's going to stay here. What kind of life does she come from?" Vesemir asked. "Farmers? Smiths? We might as well have her do something she's trained in."

"Her Grandmother was Queen Calanthe," Geralt said, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Ciri's the heir to Cintra."

Lambert's jaw went slack.

"You brought the princess Nilfgaard's after here? Do you know what kind of danger that puts us all in, son?" Vesemir said.

"She needs protection. This is the only place she'll be safe and can train-"

"We don't train girls," the older witcher said sharply. "Not after the last one."

"She needs it, Vesemir. Badly. She's got some sort of magic that comes out when she's in danger. I can't figure out what it is, but it's getting stronger. It's the only way she knows how to protect herself."

"Drop her at Aretuza then. They're always looking for fresh meat," Lambert snorted. "The last thing we need is a child to look after, much less a girl who the whole bloody continent wants to catch."

"Are you forgetting your own words?" Eskel said, speaking up for the first time since Ciri and Jaskier left the room. "As you said earlier, that's not how the Law of Surprise works."

"I'm not risking my arse against any Niflgaard soldiers who come looking for her," Lambert crossed his arms.

"Don't then," Geralt growled, staring at his brother. "I'm not asking any of you to help her. Just to not make her life harder while she's here."

Vesemir shifted in his seat, sending the sound of shrieking wood through the room. "You've claimed her and she's here now. There's no changing that," he said. "All I ask is that she pull her own weight. Same for the bard. We'll figure out the rest with time."

Geralt nodded, taking a deep breath.

"Whatever. Just keep the brat away from my things," Lambert grunted. He straightened up and left the room.

"I'll go get the room next to yours ready for her. And the one across from you for the bard," Eskel said. Geralt nodded at the scarred witcher before he left the room, leaving him alone with Vesemir. He was about to turn toward the door when the older witcher spoke.

"What little do you know of the girl's magic?" he said, looking into the flames.

"It only comes out when she feels threatened. She blacks out and lets out a scream that blows away anyone near her," Geralt shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he stood. "It killed least a dozen soldiers one day."

"Sounds powerful," Vesemir said.

"Hmm."

"I suppose it's good she's at Kaer Morhen then. Nothing to scare her here except for spiders," Vesemir sighed. He picked up the oiled rag and started to rub the sword again. "We'll speak more of this later. Get something to eat in the meantime. We already had dinner, but there's some bread and jerky in the kitchen."

Geralt turned toward the door. "See you in the morning."

Vesemir nodded as he stared down at the armor.

Geralt made his way down the long hall once more and walked down a small staircase that lead to the kitchens. He sliced several pieces of bread and wrapped them in napkins with the meat that was left uncovered on the counter next to three dirty plates.

It must have been Lambert's night to clean up.

He gathered their food and walked back upstairs, stopping at the library door that was open just enough for a thin slither of candlelight to peak out into the hallway. He opened the door and stood in the threshold. Jaskier and Ciri were laying on their stomachs on the floor, a book opened in front of each of them.

"That ghoul looks like Lord Ferkus. See the way the three chins nearly touch its stomach?" the girl said, giggling. Jaskier took the book and held it closer to his face.

"It's as if he posed for this sketch himself," he said, examining the page closely. His eyes flashed up at the door and he grabbed the book next to him. "Geralt, do you think Valdo Marx looks more like this one-" he flipped to a page with an ugly creature that was oozing puss from pours all over its body. "-or this one?" he turned to a picture of a drowner covered in warts.

"I only met him once. Can't say my opinion's best."

"Once is still too many," Jaskier murmured, flipping through the book. Ciri propped her head up on her hands.

"He came to Cintra a few times. He was drunk a lot, but I liked his songs."

"Gah, you wound me!" Jaskier clutched at his chest. Ciri smiled and sat up, shutting the book.

"We'll stitch you back together upstairs," Geralt said. "Come on, I'll show you your rooms."

Geralt handed each of them a bundle of food after they put the books back on the shelves. Ciri thanked him after she pulled out the bread and swallowed a small bite of it. Jaskier did, too, though a bit less gracefully. A few specks of jerky almost hit Geralt when he spoke.

They were quiet as they followed Geralt through the keep, their meager dinners keeping their mouths too full to talk. They passed two swords that hung from a wall next to a closet. Childhood memories of using them to play fight with some of the other boys, his friends, when the elders were meeting in the other half of the keep flooded his mind.

Vesemir had told them they belonged to a great witcher who was one of the few to ever live to old age. Geralt, just 7 years old at the time, was impressed by the blades when Vesemir first pointed them out. Weapons were still a novelty to him then. The feeling later wore off when he was the last of his friends still alive after their trials.

Trying not to let his mind wander back to the darker parts of his childhood, Geralt unwrapped his bread and bit into it. They moved up a large staircase and he stopped in front of a door at the start of another hall, opening it with his free hand.

"This one's yours," he said and looked at Jaskier.

The bard moved forward and stuck his head in to find a fire already burning in the hearth. Jaskier looked back at Geralt with a raised brow.

"Eskel."

Jaskier nodded and set his bag and lute case down on the floor next to the simple bed covered in furs. The room still looked like it would need a good dusting, but at least the bed was clean.

"Cozy," the bard said. "Eskel seems a little more approachable than the other. Lambert, is it?"

Geralt nodded.

"Are there any other witchers here?" Jaskier asked. "I want to be prepared if I stumble upon one in the night while heading to the bathroom. Where is that, by the way?"

"At the end of this hall. And Coën might come, if he's not here already."

"Just one more?" Ciri looked up at him. "This place looks like it should be home to a dozen witchers at least."

"It was. A long time ago."

"Oh," Ciri's face softened. She looked like she wanted to ask a question but stayed quiet as Jaskier started digging through his bag. He pulled out a long night shirt Geralt hadn't seen before. He must have bought it at the village a few days back.

Jaskier stretched his arms and let out a long yawn. "I'm going to turn in. Riding all day is surprisingly exhausting for something that requires such little movement. Goodnight!"

"Night," Ciri said through her own yawn.

She moved back into the hall and Geralt led her to a room not far from Jaskier's. The girl slumped onto the bed as soon as she entered the room, which was almost identical to Jaskier's and also had a fire going in it already.

"Sorry it's not more comfortable," Geralt said, stopping in the doorway.

"Don't be. It's better than the ground any day," she said as she began untying her cloak. He put their bag on a plain chair that was sitting in the corner next to the fireplace.

"Do you need anything?" he asked. She shook her head. He was about to leave when she spoke up again.

"Geralt," she said, pausing while he turned back around to face her. "They don't want me here."

She didn't say it like a question, nor as if she was upset. Just like it was a fact.

"They don't like strangers in their home. But that doesn't mean you're not welcome here," he stepped further into the room. "They know there's nowhere else for you to go, especially with destiny involved."

"What about Jaskier? He's got nothing to do with our destiny."

"Hmm," he grunted. "Maybe not. But he was there the night I claimed you. That counts for something."

Ciri's eyes lit up.

"You haven't told me that story yet."

"I will another time. You should rest. You don't want to be tired while doing chores for Vesemir," her shoulders slumped. "And when we start training."

She perked back up at that and smiled. "Really?"

"There's no point in putting it off now that we're here," he said. That, and he knew Ciri would need as much training as she could get. She would need to be ready if Nilfgaard crossed paths with her again.

"Alright. See you tomorrow, Geralt," she yawned.

"Goodnight. I'm next door if you need me."

He closed the door and watched as the dim flames coming from the torches in the hallway danced off the stone walls. They weren't usually lit - there was no point when the only occupants in the keep could all see in the dark. But he was glad Eskel thought about their less well-sighted guests.

Geralt tugged the door to his own room open and looked around at the familiar walls.

A rat pelt hung next to the hearth, where his 8-year-old self had proudly displayed it. It was the first animal he'd ever killed. He could still see the hole in its skin from where his knife sliced through its shoulder and pinned it to the ground screaming. Vesemir had praised him for how quickly he had caught it, even if he did get blood all over a counter in the kitchens.

Another pelt hung from the wall over his bed. The bear wasn't the largest he had ever seen, but it was still the biggest any of the witchers he trained with had caught on their first hunt after their trials. They had to kill a bear with nothing other than a small knife and their quick feet, all while the elders watched.

That day also gave him his first scar; three thick lines running down his shoulder that had faded over the years.

Geralt sat down on the bed and started pulling off his armor. He noticed one of the plates on his left arm was loose, but it was nothing he couldn't repair tomorrow in the armory. He tossed the gear into the corner next to an old sword he hadn't touched since he was a teen. Once he was done, he sat still on the bed and looked around the room.

It was always odd being back for the first night of winter. He was glad to see his brothers and Vesemir, and grateful to have a safe place to stay where villagers weren't begging for his help while trying to skimp out on his pay, sending him dirty looks, and tugging their children against their sides as if he was going to swoop down and snatch them at any moment.

But even after nearly a century and a half had passed, Geralt still sometimes heard the echoes of his friends' screams ringing through the keep - the last noises most of them would ever make. He still avoided the east wing of the basement, where they were each mutated. He knew Eskel and Lambert did, too. Even Vesemir seemed to ignore it. He never suggested for them to fix up that area in his relentless effort to repair the keep.

Geralt tugged on the blankets and slid into his bed after pulling off his boots. The scent of dust still lingered on his sheets and he was pretty sure a dead spider was next to his feet, but he didn't mind. It felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally at Kaer Mohren! I also already love writing from the new witchers' perspectives- especially Lambert. Thanks for the support!


	13. The Instinct

Ciri woke up feeling warm and relaxed for the first time in months.

The straw inside her mattress poked through the itchy fabric and scratched against her skin, but she didn't mind. The thick furs that were draped over her were just heavy enough to feel snug but not too constricting, and the fire in the hearth sent a comforting glow over the walls.

She would have stayed curled up under the pelts if her stomach hadn't started growling. The bread and jerky she scarfed down last night had been the only real food she had eaten since yesterday morning. Slowly, she sat up and tossed the furs off of her, shivering as the cool air washed over her skin.

Ciri padded across the room and grabbed her dress off of the chair in the corner. She pulled off her nightgown, tugged the dress over her shoulders, and tied the laces in the back as best she could. Even though she didn't have a mirror to look into, she knew they weren't nearly as straight as they would be if one of her chamber maids had done them. Or that her hair didn't look as nice as it did when they combed it with special oils each morning.

She supposed that didn't matter. She was safe, and that felt better than any sort of pampering she would have had in Cintra.

Ciri put on her boots and left the room after running a comb through her hair. It didn't do much other than make her curls poof out a bit more than usual, but at least it looked like she tried do something with it. Grandmother always said messy hair made a lady look lazy. She definitely didn't want to come off as lazy today, not after seeing the disapproving looks the witchers gave Geralt when he introduced her.

The corridor was quiet except for the muffled sound of snores she heard as she passed Jaskier's closed door. She had no idea what time it was, but him still being asleep didn't do much to help her gauge the hour. They would have left their makeshift camps on the road far later each day if Geralt hadn't nudged the bard awake each morning, more often than not getting mumbled pleas for "five more minutes" in return.

Geralt's door was open and his room was empty. Ciri had no idea where he might be, but she figured the great hall was a good place to start looking. She wouldn't know where else to look, anyway.

Soft rays of sun streamed in from the few windows Ciri passed as she made her way through the keep, trying to remember where the great hall was. Or, ideally, finding where the kitchens were.

Ciri had just walked by the third animal pelt hanging from the keep's walls in a row when she first felt the air turn cold. A gust of wind pick up a few strands of hair from her shoulders as it brushed against her face. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her torso, missing the warmth of her bed, but kept walking forward.

She turned the corner and found a large chunk of the keep's wall and floor missing, the morning sun and freezing air streaming in from the outside. She moved closer and gasped when she saw that it wasn't just a small part of the hall that was missing. Instead, it looked as if an entire section of Kaer Morhen had been blown away, the crumbled foundation and a few jagged walls the last bit of it standing.

She was about to turn away when her eye caught a faint glimmer of sunshine reflecting off of a sword that was laying on the ground under a dying tree near the collapsed walls. The tired branches had kept the snow from burying it, and several more swords were strewn about in other spots that hadn't been covered in snow. Some of the weapons had rusted, but others simply looked darker; like the tarnished silver some of the maids in the Cintran palace used to make their children clean as a punishment.

Ciri took a step closer to the edge to get a better look at the scene in front of her. But when her foot pressed down on the floor, the cracked stones suddenly broke apart. Her heart dropped into her stomach when she started to fall to the snowy ground far below. She was about to let out a shrilly scream when a large hand grabbed the neck of her dress and yanked her back, releasing her on the part of the floor that was still intact.

"What are you doing down here?"

Ciri jumped and spun around when she heard the gravelly voice ring out in the corridor. The tall, brown-haired witcher who she briefly met yesterday - Lambert, she remembered - was standing in front of her with his arms crossed.

"I was looking for Geralt. Or the kitchens, I suppose," she said, trying to calm her pounding heart while she straightened out her dress.

"Food's that way. Not down a corridor little girls should stay out of," Lambert said.

"How was I supposed to know? No one told me," she frowned and stood up. "And I'm not a little girl."

"Yeah? How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"Ooh, thirteen. A right grown woman you are! Should I help my lady down the stairs? Or bow? Forgive me that I didn't when I first saw you falling to your death-"

"I wasn't falling to my death!"

"Right, because little girls - excuse me - women like you can fall into a snow drift that deep without a cloak or gloves and dig their way out before they freeze."

Ciri took a deep breath as she glared at the witcher.

"Could you just tell me where the kitchens are?"

"Down the stairs at the end of the hallway on the left, then go through the door next to the library. Can't miss it," he grunted. She turned to leave but he spoke up again. "What are you even doing up this early? Aren't princesses supposed to sleep until noon at least? You know, getting your beauty sleep?"

"Aren't you supposed to be sharpening your swords or killing something?" she shot back.

She was surprised when Lambert chuckled.

"I guess. Though I was a bit busy saving your hide."

Ciri was about to protest again when she was cut off by a deep voice.

"Saving her from what?" Geralt said as he stopped next to them. Ciri jumped slightly at his sudden presence. She was quickly learning how light witchers were on their feet. She could always hear someone walking down the stone hallways in Cintra, even the ladies who wore soft slippers and always tried their best to seem unassuming - a trait Grandmother hated.

"Your kid nearly tumbled out of the keep when the floor gave way," Lambert said, speaking up before she could. "Caught her before she could break her neck."

"My neck would have been fine," she huffed. "I was just on my way to get breakfast."

"And you were down here?" Geralt asked. He didn't seem angry. Just a bit confused.

"I got lost trying to find the kitchens. I didn't _want_ to fall through the floor," she frowned.

"Shouldn't have stepped so close to the edge then," Lambert muttered. Ciri sent him a glare.

"Doesn't matter now," Geralt sighed. "Come on, we'll get breakfast. Eskel left some bacon and bread in the great hall."

He nodded at Lambert before turning back around and walking down the hall. Ciri gave one last disgruntled look to the smirking witcher before she followed. They were halfway down the hallway Lambert had mentioned when Geralt spoke again.

"It's not safe in that part of the keep."

"Hadn't noticed," she muttered. He looked down and raised an eyebrow at her. "Sorry, just hungry and annoyed. Is he always so aggravating?"

"It's not bad when you get used to it," Geralt said, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "It's almost funny when he gets Vesemir going. Until he gets mad and assigns us all more chores."

"Sounds like Grandmother. She'd make Grandfather and I attend her excruciatingly boring meetings with the master of coin if we talked too much at royal engagements. But most of those were so dull we couldn't help but talk."

"I bet," Geralt said, smiling slightly.

"What sort of chores does Vesemir make you do?" Ciri asked as they walked down a large staircase.

"Mostly rebuild fallen walls. And dusting," Geralt grunted. "Lots of dusting."

Ciri nodded. That prospect didn't sound great, but it had to beat old Ser Eike droning on about how much the palace spent on pork each month.

She recognized the doors to the great hall once she stepped down from the last step. They walked quietly into the room, which was warmly lit by a fire in the large hearth. She straightened up when she saw Vesemir sitting at the table with a plate of food in front of him.

"You're eating late," Geralt said as they approached the table. Vesemir shook his head as he bit off a chunk of the bacon in his hand.

"I would have been here earlier if it weren't for the damned gnomes in the gardens again. I had to chase a pack of them away from the pumpkins. Little shits kept running back every time I turned around."

"I thought you got rid of the those years ago," Geralt said. He sat down on a chair across from Vesemir, as did Ciri.

"Thought I did, too, but must have missed a few. They're everywhere now," Vesemir grunted. "Damned little fuckers breed like rabbits."

"Hmm," Geralt hummed in agreement. He grabbed a plate and put some bread and bacon onto it before handing it to Ciri, who muttered a small thanks, and took a helping for himself.

"The last of the autumn crops are nearly in. Eskel said he would haul what's left to the store house this morning."

"The gnomes will be disappointed," Geralt said.

"Good. Let them rot, for all I care. A fat one nearly bit my leg last week," Vesemir grumbled. "I saw a few in the village when I went down before the chill set in. Goddrick said they've been terrorized by them. And werewolves."

Geralt swallowed the last of his bread and reached for another slice. Ciri bit into the bacon and chewed the tough meat as best she could. It didn't taste bad, per say. Just like it had been over salted and left to dry for too long before it was cooked.

"There hasn't been a werewolf near the mountains in a century at least," Vesemir continued. "That blacksmith tried telling me the beast stole his best sheep over the summer. When I asked what it looked like, he said he didn't get a good look at it. Just that it wasn't much bigger than his boy."

"Could be a young one."

"I doubt it. He tried telling me once a horde of butterflies destroyed part of his crops. The man doesn't know a butterfly from a grasshopper, much less a wolf from a werewolf," Vesemir shook his head. "He offered me a contract for the beast. I almost came out of retirement for the coin until he tried to sell me silver for 50 crowns more than what it was worth."

"I would have paid you the 50 crowns to see that. When was the last time you took a contract?"

"Well before you came here, Wolf," Vesemir said. He took a drink from the mug in front of him. "I assume you haven't had one in a while."

Geralt looked down at Ciri from the corner of his eye. "It would have been too much of a risk. And we didn't need the coin."

"Hmm," Vesemir grunted. Ciri thought he sounded eerily like Geralt. She was about to take another bite of bacon when the door to the hall opened again.

"Good morning!" Jaskier said with a chipper smile. It faltered a bit when he looked over at Vesemir's gruff expression, but the bard seemed to shrug it off well enough. "The birds outside were incredibly loud this morning - who knew you still had songbirds up here in the mountains? Ooh, is that bacon I smell? Haven't had much else other than crow and squirrel in ages. Though I can't complain - squirrel tastes a lot like chicken, to be honest. Looks like it too, if you squint hard enough while it's cooking. The skin's almost the same color and-"

"You ever see the stable hands clean out the barns at that palace of yours, girl?" Vesemir grunted, his hard but not unkind gaze meeting Ciri's. She sat up straighter and nodded.

"Good. You can help the bard," he said and stood up. "The stalls need new hay and could use a good scrub."

Ciri felt her shoulders droop. Jaskier's eyes widened.

"Stalls? Scrub?"

"Aye, boy. Geralt will show you where the rags and buckets are," Vesemir said. He grabbed his plate and mug before nodding at the white-haired witcher and leaving the room.

"You never told me making guests do hard labor was apart of the witchers' guide to hospitality," Jaskier sighed after the door shut. He sat down in one of the chairs and took a slice of bacon from the center of the table.

"You never asked," Geralt said.

Jaskier bit into the bacon, his eyes growing wide with surprise as he tried to chew the tough meat. "Any other things I should know as a guest?" he said around the bacon filling his mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

"Ha ha, Geralt. Very funny," Jaskier said. "Though I'll have you know it's hard not to when your meat is as tough as leather and you can't just swallow it! Even the jerky last night wasn't like this. How do you even make it this way?"

"Ask Eskel, he does most of the cooking."

"Is that the one with the scary scars?" the bard asked. Geralt nodded. "I'll pass. Wouldn't want to offend him."

"Hmm. Chew faster then. You'll offend Vesemir if you're not out working soon."

* * *

Ciri came out of the stables smelling of hay and horse dung. She liked Roach a lot. The mare was strong and sturdy, yet still leaned into Ciri's touch whenever she rubbed her nose or combed through her hair with her fingers. Ciri just never noticed how badly her dung smelled - or how much of it she could drop in a day.

Ciri's knees were raw from kneeling all morning to wash the floors and stalls, and her right arm was stiff from how hard she had to scrub the grime from the stables. Hay stuck to her cloak and patches of her skirt were still wet from the puddles she accidentally knelt in as she cleaned, chilling her legs as she and Jaskier walked back inside the keep with wooden buckets in hand.

They found Geralt near the closet where he had gotten the buckets earlier. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his hands, which were holding a spade and a pail of cement used for grout, were covered in gray dust.

"Done?" he said, opening the door. Jaskier dropped the bucket down on the floor of the closet with a thud.

"Finally. When was the last time anyone cleaned that place? There were shit stains under the shit stains!"

"Probably when it was Lambert's turn," Geralt shrugged.

Ciri put her bucket down beside where Geralt and Jaskier left theirs. "He needs to learn to clean better then," she muttered.

"Vesemir's said the same for years," Geralt said. He took a pile of dirty, wet rags from her and Jaskier handed him another bunch of suspiciously brown cloth before wiping his hands on his pants, which were adorned with hay and specks of dirt. He frowned when he saw a stain on his white shirt from when he accidentally knocked a bucket of brown water off of one of the thick fences inside the stables.

"Ugh, I better go change before this sets in. Do you have any soap?"

"There's some in the bathroom you can use," Geralt said as he stacked their the supplies on shelves that didn't look strong enough to hold a pile of paper, yet somehow didn't break. "Do you remember where it is?"

"Of course. Making my way around new castles and keeps is a talent of mine! Comes in handy since I usually have to sneak out."

"Why do you have to sneak out?" Ciri asked, brow raised. She thought Jaskier almost sounded nervous when he chuckled.

"Ah, well, just a typical thing for bards. Have to shake off all the fans. Right, Geralt?"

The witcher just looked at him.

"Right, well, I'm going to have a desperately needed bath," he said and started walking down the hall. "See you at dinner!"

Ciri looked over at Geralt.

"He wasn't talking about fans, was here?"

"No," Geralt grunted as he closed the door of the closet. He glanced at the late afternoon sun that streamed in through a small window before looking back at Ciri. "Go change. I'll meet you in the courtyard to start training after."

Ciri smiled and nodded, quickly turning to head to her room. She was about halfway down the hall when Geralt called out to her.

"Do you know the way?"

"I think so!" she yelled back over her shoulder. She was pretty sure she saw Geralt shake his head before she turned back around.

She weaved through the corridors and up the keep's large stone staircases as fast as she could without actually running. She found her room without issue and quickly traded her dress for breeches and a long sleeved shirt. Ciri tied her hair back with a thin piece of leather she found at the bottom of the bag Geralt had left in her room the night before.

She tugged her cloak around her shoulders and made her way back through the keep. The large wooden door that led to the courtyard was heavy, but she was able to open it enough to slip through. Geralt was waiting for her near an area of the courtyard where the snow had been pushed away into large piles against the aging outer walls.

The witcher stood up from his seat on a large stone when she approached him. She was a bit surprised to find that he didn't have any swords with him, even more so when she found a strip of dark cloth in his hand instead of some sort of weapon.

"Where are the swords?"

"We won't use those yet. The first lesson is to listen."

"Listen?" Ciri felt her excitement start to fade. Her etiquette tutors had lectured her endlessly on how important it was for a lady to always listen to others. And those lessons had always been incredibly boring.

"To your surroundings," he said. "Opponents can sneak up on you anywhere. If you aren't always on your guard, they can kill you before you know they are there."

Ciri nodded, her disappointment ebbing away. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"It's easy to hear a rustling bush or a horse carrying its rider, but detecting silent footsteps or a flying arrow takes practice."

Geralt handed her the cloth. It was thick, dark, and clearly worn. She thought it looked like a scrap from an old wool cloak.

"Put that on and see if you can tell where I am."

Ciri wrapped the fabric around her eyes and tied the ends in a knot at the back of her head. She could only see darkness.

"Listen to the sound of my voice," he paused for a moment. "Where am I?"

His voice had moved to the right of her. She pointed at the spot.

"Good," he said, going quiet again. "And now?"

Ciri gestured to the far left side of where she stood.

"Right. Now listen for how close I am."

"That's a trick question," she said. "You could be speaking louder or softer without moving."

"The tone of your voice changes when you do that - a yell sounds more strained. An echo, unless you're inside, usually means they are farther away. And if you can hear a whisper, they're close even if they aren't right next to you," he grew silent again. "How far?"

His voice was close but not as close as before, though not far enough to sound strained. Ciri thought for a moment before she spoke. "Ten paces."

"And now?"

"Twenty paces."

They went on like that for 20 minutes at least. She had to guess how far he was and what direction he came from. She got it right most of the time, though it became harder to tell just how far he was when he moved farther away. When she guessed correctly at least a dozen times in a row, he moved on.

"Now listen for my footsteps. Point at the direction they're in when you hear them."

Ciri nodded. It wasn't hard at first - by the way he shuffled his feet, it was obvious he wasn't trying to mask his sound. But as his steps grew more silent, the less she was able to tell where he was. After his steps had become entirely quiet and she kept answering wrong, she pulled the blindfold from her head. He wasn't farther than three steps in front of her.

"I can't hear your footsteps when you're that quiet," she huffed.

"You're listening for the wrong thing. Most men can't hide the sound of their breathing perfectly if they have been walking through the forest all day. Or the way their leather clothing squeaks when they move. And if they're soldiers, their armor usually clinks. You might not be able to hear all that from far away, but you should always listen for it. Sometimes your hearing will surprise you."

"And what if I'm about to be attacked by a witcher who can move without making a single noise?"

"Depend on your sight. Animals moving in the same direction, or if they are moving quickly, means there could be a threat. Same with people in a village. Even if they don't seem alarmed, it could mean an attacker is coming."

"And if there is no one around to observe?"

"Trust your gut. If a voice is telling you something isn't right, listen to that."

Ciri was skeptical. She knew there were always hidden threats in the world - Grandmother had told her that plenty of times already. But to react to what you didn't know was there sounded nearly impossible. Holding back a frown, she tied the fabric back around her eyes and waited for Geralt to move again.

She did her best to listen to his breathing, the rustling of his clothes, or anything else that could give his presence away. But like before, his silent movements were too hard to detect.

Ciri was about to pull down her blindfold again in frustration when she suddenly felt a sense of unease tugging inside of her. She shot her right arm out and quickly turned around, nearly jumping when she made contact with Geralt's wrist.

"Good. See what I mean?"

Ciri nodded. He moved away and continued on with the exercise. Every now and then she heard him step on a branch or make his footsteps crunch lightly in the snow. Mostly he was quiet, leaving her to sense him on her own. She couldn't do it every time, but that was OK. She felt her confidence start to grow each time her instinct was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all of your wonderful support!


	14. The Library

The keep's halls were quiet as Ciri slowly walked through them.

It was the first moment of free time she had gotten since they arrived three days ago. She finished scrubbing the kitchen floor just before lunch and got done training with Geralt not more then 10 minutes ago. Jaskier went back upstairs with her and walked toward the bathroom with a sort of jig in his step, mentioning something about taking a "long, _long_ , bath."

Ciri had tossed her cloak on the chair in her room and was currently walking near the great hall. She wanted to explore the many rooms that were hidden behind the bare, dark doors lining the hallways. Even more, she wanted to wander through the keep and discover just how big it was. But she didn't want Lambert to find her somewhere she shouldn't be again - she knew he wouldn't let her live it down if he did. Nor did she want to tumble through another weak spot in the ancient-looking floor.

She decided the library was her safest bet. The warm glow from the fireplace that flickered over the rows of worn books and scrolls was a welcome break from the keep's cracked walls and floors that were adorned only with dusty pelts and cobwebs.

The room reminded her a bit of Cintra when she had first stepped inside of it. She wasn't sure why exactly. Maybe it was because the mossy green chair next to the hearth looked like the one Grandfather used to read bedtime stories to her in. Or maybe it was the way the wooden shelves groaned each time the wind howled against the keep, like the ones in Grandmother's study did during winter storms.

Ciri approached one of the shelves and carefully ran her hand over the bindings of several books. Many were simply a stack of pages held together by strands of string, while others were protected by thick leather covers that had shrunk a bit with age. Some books stood out against the wall of tan and brown. A green one near the ceiling had silver flowers painted along its spine and a red one not far from her hand was adorned with bronze letters she couldn't quite make out.

Her eyes stopped roaming when they fell on a dark, tattered book in the middle of the bookcase. It wasn't especially striking, other than its clear age. The dark leather had tears in its binding and the faint silver text was simple, if a bit small. She perched on the tips of her toes to reach it, with her hand just barely reaching the book. She pulled it forward with her fingers before gently grabbing it.

The book wasn't as thick as some of the other texts stored on the shelves. Ciri's tutors had made her read much larger books as part of her studies, with most of them being as dull as the tutors themselves. She turned it over so she could see the cover. Reading the title, it was already clear that it was more interesting than anything she read during her studies.

_The Greatest Wolf Witchers and their Deeds_

Ciri pulled open the book and began to slowly turn through its pages. It didn't have any drawings and most chapters seemed to have been added by different hands. Some paragraphs were neat and easy to read, while others were scrawled in letters that were too close together, too small, or incredibly crooked.

That didn't matter to Ciri. She poured over the pages and drank in their stories no matter how hard it was to make out the slightly faded letters.

The first chapter described a harrowing tale of Szymon of Angren, who saved an entire town from a hoard of bruxoas with only a silver knife. Another chapter detailed how one witcher, known simply as Eryk, brought down a dragon who had snatched at least a dozen children from the Redanian countryside - the only time a witcher had ever killed one of the prized, rare beasts.

Ciri slowly sunk down onto the ground with her back against the bookcase as she read about the witchers. Some stories took up at least a half dozen pages with riveting tales about slaying giant monsters, dangerous beasts, and, on the rare occasion, druids who used their magic to make monsters do their bidding. Other stories, especially the ones toward the end of the book, had just enough detail for them to even be considered stories. A chunk of pages at the back was empty, seemingly waiting for more tales to be told.

Ciri was halfway through an account of how Zenon of Moulderwood cut down a massive werewolf and its pack during a full moon when she saw a shadow fall over her and block out most of the light from the fireplace. She looked up and quickly stood when her eyes landed on Vesemir.

_How were witchers always this quiet?_

Ciri shut the book and stayed silent as the old witcher stared down at her. She never felt like she quite knew what to say to him. It wasn't that she was scared of him, per say. Just nervous that he might change his mind about allowing her to stay, even if Geralt had assured her he wouldn't. Ciri didn't want to give him a reason to kick her out either way.

"Done with your chores?" he asked.

Ciri nodded. "Not long ago."

"You spend your spare time reading in the library?" he asked with a raised brow. She took a deep breath, pushing down some of the nerves starting to edge into her chest, but he kept talking before she could try to form a response. "Wish I could have gotten those three to do the same when they were your age. They were either knocking each other onto their arses or hunting for the largest elk in the forest. Never found it," he sighed. "You're reading that?"

Ciri looked down at the book in her hands before turning her gaze back toward him. "It caught my attention on the shelf. The stories are riveting."

"Haven't picked that up in years. One of the first Wolf witchers started it to keep track of stories he could brag about to the other schools. We've used it to encourage recruits since. Shows them what they can become capable of as witchers."

"How long does it take to train to be a witcher?" she asked.

"Sometimes a decade to learn the basics at least, but we never stop training," Vesemir said, crossing his arms. "If we don't stay in shape and always try to improve our skills, a monster will slice us down the first chance it gets."

No wonder Geralt had been sparring with Lambert and Eskel so much over the last few days, she thought. He hadn't had much practice on the road, other than when they were getting attacked by soldiers or monsters.

"That makes sense," Ciri said. She thought back to how often Grandmother had trained with Grandfather, even though she was one of the best fighters in Cintra, and how she always picked up training more in the few weeks before a battle.

 _A warrior who isn't as sharp as her sword isn't a warrior at all,_ her grandmother had once told her before riding off to face bands of raiders who were terrorizing the Cintran countryside. She came back with their leader's head jammed through a pike not three days later.

"Aye. But being a good fighter alone won't get you far as a witcher. We need to know how to take down monsters based on their weaknesses. How to outsmart them, and know what herbs and potions can heal us when the monsters are smarter than we think," Vesemir said. He moved over to a stack of books on a table near the fireplace, seeming to be looking for one specifically.

Ciri's eyes lit up at this. She had been fascinated by the books of monsters her and Jaskier had flipped through on the first night they arrived. Even if it had been terrifying to run into the group of crouxens that had nearly killed her on the road, Ciri still wanted to know as much about these beasts as she could. Her tutors in Cintra never humored her questions about monsters and her grandparents and Mousesack never indulged her with stories of them, like the servants had with their children.

They were foreign and frightening to her. But the fear that struck through her heart when one almost cut into her with its massive claw was something Ciri never wanted to go through again. She wanted to be ready the next time that danger crossed her path.

"We ran into a group of monsters on the road. Crouxens, Geralt called them. They were the fastest things I'd ever seen."

"Good thing you were with Geralt. Crouxens are nasty creatures, and that boy can fight his way out of anything," he looked up from a book he had taken from the table. His golden eyes stuck out against the dark shadows dancing on the wall behind him as he stared at her. "Well, almost anything."

Vesemir opened the book and the room grew quiet, save for the occasional cracking wood coming from the hearth. Ciri picked at the hem of her shirt as she mulled over a question she didn't quite know how to ask.

"I killed one of them on my own with a sword while he was fighting the others. It was mostly luck. But knowing that monster's weaknesses, like you said, would have saved me if I didn't have luck on my side."

Vesemir stopped flipping through the book. Ciri felt the nerves in her chest pull tight.

"Geralt said you don't train girls to be witchers," she continued, mustering up the courage to keep speaking. "Would you ever make an exception?"

"Witchers aren't known for changing their ways. Our traditions are thousands of years old," he said. Ciri felt a bubble of frustration start to replace some of her nerves.

"My grandmother led giant armies into battle and won. And she cut down a lot of her enemies herself. If a woman can do that, why can't she become one of you?" Ciri said, standing taller.

"A woman couldn't become a witcher even if she wanted to. The knowledge needed to create more was lost years ago," Vesemir said and turned his head toward the fire. "Besides, learning to be a witcher is hardly the same as learning to play war from your pretty castle, girl. You need to know everything about a creature from the marks on its back to the stench of its shit."

Ciri pursed her lips as she considered what the witcher said. She knew it would be different, harder even, than her studies in Cintra, but she didn't think she had another choice. As much as Jaskier knew about the continent's courts, she doubted him or anyone else here could teach her how to rule a kingdom. She figured destiny linked her with a witcher for a reason, and learning their ways seemed to be the only clear path left in her life, save for running from the Feathered Knight. 

"I should know how to protect myself properly from monsters. Geralt might not always be nearby to protect me," she said. "I think they're fascinating, too."

"And dangerous. One bite from an gravier and you're dead. Same for half of the other beasts in the forest," he said and turned toward the door. He was almost through it's threshold when his voice rang through the room, this time slightly louder. "Consider that you're first lesson. We'll go over more ways of how not to die tomorrow."

Vesemir's form disappeared into the hallway as Ciri's lips spread into a smile. She hurriedly turned back toward the bookcase and searched for the book of monsters she had looked through with Jaskier. She didn't want to wait to find out what a gravier was - or the rest of the monsters Geralt and the other witchers usually faced.

* * *

"C'mon, wolf! Don't you want to show off the fancy tricks you learned at the fancy courts you visit?"

Geralt rolled his eyes at the witcher standing behind him as he sharpened his sword in the courtyard. Lambert had been asking him to spar since he had arrived back home, and while he wasn't opposed to knocking his brother on his ass any chance he got, he was enjoying his break from fighting. Melitele knew he did enough of it on the path.

"We all know that's a bad idea," Eskel said from beside Lambert.

"And why's that?" Lambert asked.

"Think back to all the times Geralt beat you. Or just the last time you sparred. If I remember right, you needed a new sword and stitches by the time you were done," Eskel said.

"That sword was shite anyway," Lambert waved the air with his hand. "And I didn't think he'd hack at me like I was some sort of fucking beast. One comment about that witch and the bastard went mental. Didn't even say what the bitch did to piss him off."

"Didn't Vesemir tell you to clean the kitchens," Geralt grunted. The two witchers were grating down his good mood dangerously fast.

"Finished early," Lambert said.

"I'm sure it's spotless then," Eskel scoffed. Lambert punched his shoulder.

"Fuck off. C'mon, Geralt. Have some fun for once."

Geralt signed and put down the cloth in his hand. He shook his head as he stood. "Fine. But I'm not holding back."

"Don't worry about that - you'll be flat on your ass soon enough," Lambert chuckled.

"Hmm."

He drew his sword and started stalking the younger witcher. The orange glow from the setting sun bounced off their swords as Lambert did the same with a devilish grin on his face.

They moved around each other slowly at first, both with their glowing eyes trained carefully on the other's. Lambert had always been one of the best fighters at Kaer Morhen. He was as fast as he was aggressive, and never shied away from striking a man where he was weak. But he could get sloppy if he became frustrated. If there was one thing Geralt had become an expert at since they were younger, it was making his brother just that.

"Are either of you going to strike yet? It's no fun watching you stalk each other like cockatrices in heat," Eskel called out from his perch on a nearby rock.

"You heard him, Wolf. Make your move," Lambert nodded toward him.

"You first. It was your idea to spar," Geralt said with a faint smile.

They kept circling each other for a few more silent moments. With a huff, the brown-haired witcher finally lunged forward and slashed at Geralt, which he easily ducked away from.

Lambert swung his sword at Geralt's head and the sound of metal clashing together bounced off the courtyard's stone walls. Geralt dodged another attack and leaped forward, landing with a roll and popping back up behind Lambert. The other witcher had already turned to face him and swung again, this time coming close enough to Geralt's head with his blade that it nearly clipped his shoulder as it swung down through the air.

Geralt stepped back and blew several loose strands of silver hair from his face as he raised his sword again. He could feel the blood in his veins pumping faster as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and stared at his brother.

"What, tiring already?" Lambert laughed. "Thought you'd have a bit more bite left in you, olf."

"Don't get cocky, Lambert. I know that's hard for you," he poked back.

Before the other witcher could respond, Geralt rushed forwards and swung his sword. Lambert met it once again with his blade and quickly knocked it away. Geralt lunged at him over and over again, the sound of swords grating against each other each time he swung.

Lambert chuckled when he sliced into Geralt's shoulder. The cut wasn't deep by any means, but it did put a tear in his new shirt. Geralt moved back and growled at the other witcher.

"Awwe, did I ruin the pretty boy's nice blouse?" he laughed. Geralt scoffed and straightened up. He didn't try to lunge again. Instead, he stood with his sword limply at his side.

Lambert watched him carefully, seemingly waiting for him to make another move. But Geralt stood rooted in the same spot with his piercing eyes subtly appraising each shift in Lambert's weight.

The brown-haired witcher pushed his brows together and frowned at Geralt. When he didn't move, Lambert ran forward and tried to swing at Geralt's side.

Geralt backed away and dodged each of the witcher's quick attacks. The blade came close to Geralt's limbs and head a few times, but he ducked away from them. Only when he sensed Lambert's heartbeat start to pick up and saw his face grow red did he finally raise his sword and swing at his brother.

Geralt's attacks were swift and powerful as he forced Lambert to move back with each of his steps. Lambert made a few small advances on Geralt, even slicing another hole in his dark shirt. But Geralt was relentless as he pushed forward. Just as Lambert lunged at him with a low growl, Geralt hooked his foot around the witcher's ankle and knocked him to the ground. He pointed his blade against his throat before he could jump back up.

"Yield?"

"Hmm," Lambert grunted. Geralt held out his other hand and pulled a clearly pissed-off Lambert up from the ground. Eskel walked over to them, laughing when he saw the sour look on his brother's face.

"Good job, Lambert. You really showed him a thing or two," he smiled.

"Fuck off," Lambert muttered, rubbing his backside as Jaskier's voice called out from the direction of the keep's doors.

_"Ciri! You forgot your cloak!"_

Geralt looked up to see a flash of ashen curls bouncing in the wind as his charge popped up from her seat near the stables and ran back toward the keep. Jaskier was waiting with her brown cloak in hand when she reached him. He wrapped it around her shoulders and took a dark book from her hands as she started listing off facts about vampires.

"You're lucky I went on easy on you, Wolf. Especially with your kid watching. Don't want her thinking you're an easy target," Lambert muttered.

"You're right. Glad she'll think that of you and not me," Geralt said.

"I'm not - if it weren't for me pulling her up from that hole in the floor, she wouldn't even be around to think of anything. Talk about an easy target."

Geralt frowned a bit at that. As indignant as his brother was, he did have a point.

"She'll learn to protect herself soon enough," Eskel clapped a hand on Geralt's shoulder. "I'm sure she's already gotten plenty ideas about how not fight from watching Lambert."

"How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off today, eh?" Lambert crossed his arms. Eskel chuckled and stepped forward, grabbing the pommel of his sword from the sheath hanging from his waist. He flipped it around in his palm before pointing it at Geralt.

"Don't worry, Lambert. I'll show you and Geralt both how it's done."

Geralt shook his head as a faint grin spread on his lips. Without another word, he raised his sword and stood ready to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a bit of delay in updating! More should be coming soon, already have a good chunk of the next chapter written! Hope you enjoyed the witchers' interactions. I don't know much about sword fighting, and thinking of different ways to say "swung a sword" definitely made my brain do some work! Comments and kudos always appreciated!


	15. The Voices

The morning sun was bright on Ciri's face as she undid the blindfold covering her eyes. The tip of her nose was raw from the cold and her cheeks stung each time a freezing wind blew against her. Part of her wanted to hide inside next to a warm hearth for the rest of the day as the stinging cold continued to run through her fingertips and her eyelids grew more heavy by the hour.

She had been up early to help Geralt clean out an old store room near the kitchens that was both freezing and filled with more cobwebs than she had ever seen before. Ciri was charged with slipping in between the short but surprisingly deep shelves to pull out the old jars and tools that had been pushed back against the walls over the years, since Geralt had been too large to fit. It looked as if a spider had tried to weave her into a large web by the time they were done.

She probably missed a few of the dusty cobwebs that clung to her when she cleaned herself off before they began training, since she occasionally felt a little tickle on her cheeks from a strand of something that didn't quite feel like hair while she tried to find Geralt as he quietly crept around her.

The witcher said he had already seen her improve since they started three days ago, even if his silent movements were sometimes still hard to detect. She found herself feeling a bit annoyed each time she incorrectly guessed where he was. She tried not to show it. She was eager to start working with a real blade, and the sooner she passed this stage of training, the sooner she'd finally have a sword in her hand.

She had looked on while Geralt and Lambert sparred after supper yesterday. Their incredibly quick footwork and precise attacks were mesmerizing to watch. Each lunge was thought through, yet looked like it took them no effort. None of the fighters in Cintra moved quite like they did. Those men had been rigid in their fighting stances and impatient in their attacks. But the witchers' movements were like water; fluid, powerful, and always dominating whatever space they took up.

"You're getting better at knowing distance, but don't assume an attacker will always get closer before they strike. An archer could move back before they send an arrow at you," Geralt said as he took the blindfold.

"Couldn't we practice a bit more today?" Ciri asked. She wasn't looking forward to whatever chore Geralt or Vesemir had lined up for her next. Poor Jaskier was on shit-cleaning duty again, only this time in the chicken coop.

"No. Vesemir wants to see us in his study."

"He does? Why?" she asked. She thought she had heard Vesemir say her name while he was speaking with Geralt earlier, but had shrugged it off. They were talking quietly enough that she figured she had heard him wrong. Or that he was just assigning her another chore.

"Your power. He wants to learn more about it." Geralt said as he started to walk away. Ciri quickly followed, her heartbeat nervously picking up its pace.

"Learn how, exactly?"

"I'm not sure," he said. The expression on her face must have hinted at her unease. He glanced down at her while opening the door to the keep. "Nothing bad."

Ciri nodded. She didn't know how to understand what sort of power swirled inside of her, but Geralt had said Vesemir knew more about magic than he did. Hopefully that would count for something.

She stayed quiet as they moved through the keep. Geralt led her up a yet another staircase she hadn't been up before. He knocked on a door that was etched with old ruins and several pictures of wolves. It was almost pretty, save for the crudely drawn swords near the bottom. They looked like something she would have drawn when she was six.

"Come in," a muffled voice called from inside the room. Ciri craned her neck around Geralt as he opened the door. Tall bookshelves that reached the high ceilings were packed with bound books, old scrolls, and jars that had pickled snakes, massive spiders, and creatures she had never seen before floating inside of them.

Vesemir was sitting at a long oak desk that was covered with loose sheets of paper. Some had drawings of monsters and horrible looking creatures on them. Others were bare of any decoration, save for the decades of dust and dirt that clung to them.

"Have a seat," the old witcher gestured to a rickety looking chair in front of him.

Not wanting to keep Vesemir waiting, Ciri sat down and folded her hands together as Geralt stopped behind the chair. Her bottom had just touched the seat when a bright green light suddenly glowed from a glass box behind the desk and filled the room. It was gone within seconds.

"What was that?" she blinked. The green glow still lingered behind her eyelids each time they fluttered open and shut.

"The light lets us know when someone crosses over the wards around Kaer Mohren," Vesemir said, shutting a book in front of him. "It's likely just Eskel. He mentioned going out for a hunt earlier."

"Is it magic? The wards?" she asked, eagerly. _Maybe Vesemir would be able to help._

"Yes, though none that came from witchers. Druids constructed them long ago when Kaer Morhen was first built to be what it is today. They were friends of the first witchers who came here," Vesemir said. "But that's a history lesson for another time. I'm more interested in hearing about your power. Geralt said it only comes out when you're upset."

Ciri nodded. "I didn't know about it until the night Nilfgaard attacked."

"That's not uncommon. Most chaos doesn't reveal itself until about your age and typically only shows itself under pressure at first."

Ciri felt some relief at that. She hadn't known this might be normal - her tutors never spoke of chaos or humored her questions about magic. Even Mousesack avoided the topic. Only once had he explained it to her, and that had only been after she'd seen a pretty mage with soft brown curls gift Grandmother a wreath of gold she created from thin air at a feast once.

Mousesack said most people had some amount of chaos swirling inside of them, but couldn't recognize it or hone it in to create magic. Only a gifted few could do so with years of training. But he didn't answer any more of her questions. Ciri figured it had something to do with the sharp look Grandmother gave him before biting into her pheasant leg at the feast. If the mage hadn't been King Foltest's guest, Ciri was almost sure Grandmother wouldn't have let her into the castle at all.

"What happens when your power shows itself?" Vesemir asked.

Ciri's eyes roamed over to the bookshelf again as she tried to remember the moments she so often wanted to forget. But the more she thought about the worst outbursts she'd had, the foggier these memories felt.

"It comes out in a scream," she started, silently sucking in a deep breath of the room's musty air. "The first time it really happened, things around me started to shake. A giant rift appeared in the ground the second time. I can't really remember the other times since then. I just remember waking up and feeling exhausted after."

"What did it feel like the first two times it happened? The times you remember?" Vesemir said.

Ciri was quiet as she thought back to the night Cintra fell. She had done her best to bury her memories of being pulled from the castle as it burned; as her people cried out while they were slaughtered. But she let the sound of piercing screams and smell of ash come back to her slowly.

Her palms grew damp with sweat as she envisioned her Grandmother's dirty face as she told her to leave. It took everything in her to not let a shiver run down her spine when she remembered how terrified she was when the Feathered Knight slung her onto his horse and rode away from Cintra's burning walls. Above all else, she felt a sudden emptiness bubble inside her gut when the sounds of her own piercing screams rang in her ears.

"I didn't feel like myself," she said slowly. "It was like someone else was screaming for me."

Vesemir was quiet at first, staring at her with his glowing eyes. Ciri had to keep herself from shifting under his gaze. She was relieved when he stood up and turned toward one of the shelves behind him.

"Take this," he said, pulling a small orb from a stand on one of the shelves and stepping forward to hand it to her.

She took it from his large, calloused hand and gently rolled it between her palms. It was smooth and cool and too light to feel like glass. She could clearly see the reflection of her and Geralt in the orb's opaque interior, but there was something else there, too. A faint strand of light swirled in the middle and she almost thought she felt buzzing between her hands.

"How is this supposed to help?" Geralt said from behind her. His reflection in the orb tensed.

"What even is it?" she asked. Vesemir moved forward and sat against the front of the desk.

"An Oclemencer. It helps show how much chaos is inside a person, especially in those too young to detect or control it themselves," he said. "We used it on boys when they first arrived to train as witchers to see if they possessed any notable amounts of chaos."

"Did you train them to use magic if they did?"

"No. Any who showed signs of magic were sent to Ban Ard instead."

Ciri nodded faintly as she stared into the orb. The strand of light floating inside captured her attention, yet did little else other than swirl inside of its enclosure. She looked back up at Vesemir.

"Is it working?"

"Not yet. Close your eyes," he said. She pressed them shut and took another deep breath. "Focus all of your attention on the energy inside. Feel it move between your palms."

Ciri tightened her grip on the orb. She only felt the little heat that had been transferred from her hands to its cool surface as she tried to clear her mind. Then, slowly, she felt a small pulse start to throb inside the sphere. Her own heartbeat began to match its pace as it became stronger.

The chill on the outside of the orb was replaced by a comforting warmth. Ciri felt a sense of ease roll over her - happy memories of running through the Cintran gardens in the fresh spring air with her grandfather in tow, or earning one of her grandmother's rare, proud smiles slowly gathering in her mind. Her muscles, which had been sore from days of cleaning, felt loose and relaxed. Just as her chest felt free of any tension.

A chill washed over her body as she was about to open her eyes. The musty air in the study suddenly felt suffocating as unpleasant memories flashed through her head. Dara was walking away from her for the last time. Anton and his friends were shoving her to the ground in the field near Zola's home. The Feathered Knight was smiling down at her inside the corridor that was lined with portraits of long-dead rulers, then again as he carried her away from Cintra on his horse.

Ciri gripped the orb tighter as each memory faded into the next with such speed she almost couldn't keep up. The quicker they moved, the more unrecognizable they became. She saw purple eyes race past her and flurry of snow falling so fast she couldn't see anything but white in front of her. A burning tower crashed to the ground one moment, while a man with dark hair and crown of silver vines on his head smiled at her the next.

Her heart was pounding against her ribs as the images flashed in front of her. She could faintly feel her hair whipping against her face and her body grew colder by the second. The energy in the orb was overwhelming, and she just wanted it to stop.

Almost as if she had willed it, the orb shattered in her hands and sent a freezing gust of air and a blinding glow through the room. She felt a large hand clamp down on her shoulder and she shot open her eyes. Her limbs were shaking with the chill that had rushed over her.

The papers on Vesemir's desk had been swept around the room by the orb's blast and some of the scrolls that had been stacked on the tall shelves before were now strewn about the floor. Geralt, with his grip still tight on her shoulder, moved in front of her and stared at the spot where the oclemencer had rested in her hands.

"Vesemir..." Geralt slowly turned to the older witcher.

"That's never happened before," Vesemir muttered. He didn't seem shaken, per say. Just astounded.

"What does this mean?" Ciri asked, her words scraping against her dry throat and mouth.

"I'm not sure. I'll have to search through more scrolls for an answer," Vesemir said. "Go read the chapter I assigned you on common herbs before supper. I'm testing you on it tomorrow."

Ciri nodded and slowly stood on shaky legs. She hadn't been looking forward to memorizing the different types of medicinal herbs when Vesemir assigned it to her yesterday. Like her training with Geralt, it was clear they were going through the simplest, most mundane lessons first. Now she didn't mind - maybe taking notes would help her clear her mind of the images that were still faintly rushing through it.

Geralt moved his hand off of her shoulder. Ciri was slowly moving toward the door when he spoke again. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

"No, Wolf," Vesemir picked up one of the scrolls. "Go help Eskel finish dusting the armory. And see what that bard of yours is doing. I heard singing by the chicken coop earlier. The rooster nearly put a hole in Lambert's finger while he was humming last week - the last thing we need is that bird pecking at the chicks because it's pissed off."

"Hmm," Geralt grunted. He said something else after Ciri had shut the door, but the heavy wood made his words too muffled to make out.

She started down the corridor as the keep's cold air brushed over her. Ciri shivered again and wrapped her arms around herself, but Kaer Morhen's draft wasn't the only cold moving over her. Since the orb had shattered between her palms, a chill she couldn't shake had dripped down from her lungs into the pit of her stomach and quickly spread to the rest of her body.

* * *

Ciri's hand was tense with cramps by the time she finished taking notes on the types of herbs Vesemir had assigned, even though some of them only worked for witchers. Or, rather, were only safe for witchers. For some reason Vesemir had yet to explain, witchers were able to consume certain plants that were poisonous to humans but somehow benefit from them.

She wasn't surprised by that new information - she had grown used to Geralt's inhuman abilities quite a while ago now. But Ciri still wondered why witchers were so much stronger than any other human-like species. They ran faster, fought harder, and survived horrible toxins. Even Mousesack said druids could still fall to the same poisons humans couldn't come into contact with.

Ciri had just shut her book with her still chilled fingers when she heard a light knock on her door. Part of her shuddered at the thought of climbing out of her bed. The cold that rushed through her body in Vesemir's office hadn't completely faded yet, and the heavy covers had only just started to feel warm.

With a sigh, Ciri tossed the furs off her body and put her feet on the ground. Even with socks on, the cold floor sent a shiver up through her body that ended with her shoulders quaking with a shudder. She quickly made her way to the door and opened it to reveal a smiling Jaskier looking down at her.

"Good evening, princess! Geralt and the others are having some stew in the great hall for dinner. I thought you might like to pry your nose away from your books long enough to have some yourself."

"Stew sounds good," she nodded. Her stomach had started growling a while ago, and something warm to eat might help her feel better.

"Very good! May I escort you?" Jaskier said with a bow before he stuck out an arm to her, which she took with a giggle. He stood back up and started to walk down the hall with her on his arm.

"Do you know what kind it is?" she asked.

"I'm not sure to be honest, but it smelled decent enough when I walked by the kitchens on the way here. I did see Eskel come back with a deer slumped over his shoulder this afternoon. Most men wouldn't be able to skin an entire deer and have it ready for dinner, but then again, these are witchers. One time Geralt-" Jaskier paused. He looked down at where he had just put his palm over the hand she had on his arm.

"Ciri, your hand is freezing," Jaskier said, furrowing his brows. "And you're shaking. Are you feeling alright?"

Ciri quickly moved her hand off of Jaskier's. "I'm fine. Just a bit cold; my room can get drafty."

"I know it's cold in the keep, but you're absolutely frigid!"

Ciri mulled over how to explain what happened earlier in Vesemir's office to the bard. She didn't want to worry him - after all, Vesemir hadn't necessarily seem concerned, even if Geralt had. Other than when they first found Jaskier, it was the only time she had really seen the white-haired witcher seem genuinely surprised. And a bit frightened.

"Vesemir had me test my powers earlier," she started, ignoring the way Jaskier's eyes grew wide. "It was fine at first. I wasn't even doing anything. But then the room felt so cold, and part of me feels like I never left it."

Jaskier pursed his lips and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "It's no secret that I know very little about magic or anything like it, but a warm shawl always helps me feel better when winter's bite settles into my bones," he said and guided her toward the door to his room. He pulled it open and walked over to the lit fireplace.

A tattered but thick piece of cloth was hanging from the stand of pokers in front of the fire. Jaskier picked up the fabric, closed the door, and wrapped it around Ciri's shoulders. A sudden heat spread down her arms and across her back, edging away some of the cold.

"I found this in a trunk when I was helping Geralt clean out an old store room the other day. Since I like to crawl into an extra toasty bed at night, I thought it would be a nice way to warm myself up while trying to fall asleep. Seems like it could do you some good, though. Feel any better?"

Ciri nodded with a small smile. "Thank you. Though I hope you have another you can use tonight. Geralt said a storm will probably settle in over the mountain by the time we go to bed."

"Did he? I didn't see a single cloud all day. Witchery senses, I suppose."

"Hmm," Ciri hummed. Jaskier looked down at her with smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What?" she asked.

"Oh nothing, dear. Speaking of our witcher, have I ever told you about the time we had to make camp with a troup of fairies while waiting out a nasty storm in Gemmera?"

"Fairies are real?"

"Of course! Quite interesting creatures. They're beautiful, but have nasty, nasty tempers. One bit Geralt's finger when he almost sat on her. Drew a surprising amount of blood. The queen wanted to kick us out of the canopy of trees we were taking shelter under from the storm, but my music wooed her, as it usually does. Though this one fairy -"

Jaskier went on about how Geralt had to save him from a fairy that tried to pluck his eye out when he pointed out how "teeny, weeny and cute" she was until they got to the large doors of the great hall. He pushed them open for her and the smell of warm, savory stew reached her nose.

"When I saw her tits, I nearly-"

"Ahem!" Jaskier loudly cleared his throat, cutting off Lambert. He was sitting across from Eskel and Geralt at the long table with his arms spread out in front of his chest.

"Bugger off, bard. I knew you were coming," Lambert huffed before looking at Ciri. "If you don't like the story girl, cover your ears. As I was saying, her tits were bigger than-"

"Lambert," Geralt said, warningly. "Later."

"C'mon, Wolf. I was just getting to the best part! And it'll do the bard some good to hear it. You know, give him his fill of women for the first time in... well, who knows."

Jaskier scowled before marching toward the table and taking a seat directly across from the witcher. Ciri quickly followed and sat down in the space in between him and Geralt.

"I'll have you know that I get _plenty_ of... companionship," he started, a finger pointing at Lambert's smirking face. "It's one of my many specialties."

"Is it? Never would have guessed based off your silk blouse and pretty purple pants," he chuckled.

"First of all, they're plum. Second, I have a hard time imagining your grisly beard and grimy clothes attracting anything more than fleas," Jaskier huffed. "And your stench- do you even bother to bathe?"

Eskel let out a large bark of a laugh and Ciri smiled as Lambert scowled at Jaskier.

"He's got you there, lad. You do reek," Eskel grinned.

"Zuzanna didn't mind how I smelled back at that inn in Brugge," he grunted.

"Gross," Ciri frowned.

"Agreed," Jaskier said. He leaned forward and grabbed two bowls, pouring stew into one of them with a ladle before handing it to Ciri with a spoon.

"What? I thought you liked 'companionship,'" Lambert said, looking at Jaskier. The bard raised an eyebrow.

"I do, just not the thought of it involving you and your own escapades, shall we say. Geralt, could you please pass the ale," Jaskier said and nodded toward a jug in the middle of the table.

"You won't want that. Drink it and either you'll shit yourself silly or pass out, if you don't start hallucinating first," Eskel said through a mouthful of stew.

"What? Why?" Ciri asked.

"It's a special wine. Gives us more energy," Geralt added.

"And you keep that laying around like it's any old water pitcher?" Jaskier asked.

"We don't normally have to worry about humans drinking it by mistake," Eskel shrugged.

"The good old days," Lambert muttered. Ciri pursed her lips and saw Geralt send the witcher a glare.

Jaskier seemed to ignore Lambert's comment. Ciri had noticed over their travels that he was good at brushing things off like that. "Do you have anything that won't send me off my rocker? The stew is delicious, but I'd like to have something to help wash it down."

"Here," Eskel said, handing him a much larger pitcher. "You might survive this."

Jaskier took the pitcher and poured some of the dark brown liquid inside of it into a mug in front of him. He tipped the mug back to his lips and took a drink.

"Melitele, that's strong," Jaskier coughed and scrunched up his face as Lambert reached out and took the jug, pouring himself a cup of ale.

"Vesemir's special recipe. Tastes like shit, but gets the job done," Eskel said.

Ciri furrowed her eyebrows as Jaskier took another sip. "Why would you drink it if it doesn't taste good?"

"Because not everyone has a fancy array of wines to choose from, girl," Lambert answered.

"I know that. Still doesn't make your's taste any better," she said. Jaskier wagged his pointer finger in the air as he finished gulping more down.

"I think it gets slightly better the more you drink it," Jaskier said after a moment. His eyes suddenly grew wide and he shook his head. "Nope, never mind - it burns. My throat is burning," he rasped.

"Do you need water?" Ciri offered.

"Yeah bard, why don't you stick with water. Wouldn't want to damage your voice," Lambert said and took another swig. "If it's even worth saving."

"Don't get him started," Geralt grunted.

"Oh no, please do," Jaskier folded his arms on the table in front of him. "I've played for nearly every court on the continent, and in just about every town. Why, wooing a crowd with song was even how I met Geralt."

"They were throwing food at you," Geralt cut in.

"Minor detail."

"You had bread in your pants."

"Besides the point, Geralt," Jaskier huffed. "I'm a top notch lutenist and my songs have been revered around the continent. Just ask this one here. Villagers and aldermen recognize him nearly everywhere because of me-"

"I didn't ask for that that."

"- and my voice isn't too shabby, if I say so myself. I'd be more than happy to give you a proper show."

Ciri smiled at that idea. Jaskier had played a bit on the road, but she could tell it was more to keep himself entertained and in practice while traveling for long hours on end. She hadn't seen a bard give a proper performance since the night Nilfgaard attacked. She missed the sound of sweet music ringing through a hall more than she thought.

"Jaskier is really good," she said.

"Get me drunk enough first and I might be able to stomach his wailing," Lambert said, setting his mug down on the table with a clap. Jaskier's lips pulled into a smirk.

"That can be arranged."

Jaskier picked up the pitcher and poured more ale into Lambert's cup, then topped off his own mug. The witcher chuckled and grabbed his mug as Eskel groaned.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into. I've never known a drunk to piss me off more than this one," Eskel said.

"Hmm," Geralt hummed in agreement.

Jaskier waved at the air. "I've dealt with plenty a tipsy tavern goers in my day. What's one drunk witcher?"

Ciri watched Eskel and Geralt share a look that was just subtle enough to almost miss. It became clear why as the night went on.

After listening to the witchers and Jaskier chat about monsters, courts, and any other topic that came to Jaskier's mind for about an hour, Ciri sat with her head perched on her arms on the table and a headache poking at her temple. The bard had moved over to sit beside Lambert and was leaning against his side. Or Lambert was leaning against his. She couldn't really tell, at this point.

They were both belting a song about a pretty maiden who narrowly escaped marrying an ugly old lord so loud and off-key, even for Jaskier, that each note grated against Ciri's ears. Apparently the ale's horrid taste had worn off for the bard, who had gulped down nearly as much ale as Lambert. He swayed each time he moved and stumbled on practically every line of the song, even though he was its author.

The large pitcher was nearly empty and the now cold stew had been unceremoniously dumped on the table and Geralt's left leg. Ciri had thought he looked like he might actually reach over and strangle Lambert, who knocked the pot over while reenacting one of his hunts.

She nearly sighed from relief when the duo sang their last note and finished with a wobbly bow.

"Thanks you, thankss you!" Jaskier slurred, waving at Geralt, Ciri, and Eskel, who was slumped down in his chair with a hand propping up his head on the armrest. None of them had clapped. "Nesst request!"

"Fish-mangers daughter!" Lambert called out. "S'ss my favorite."

"You said that about the last three songs," Eskel groaned.

"Those were my-" he paused to hiccup, "-favorites, too."

"Not fair, Lumbern. You picked the last ones. Let Cir-ah, Cir- fuck, that one pick," Jaskier said, pointing behind Ciri's shoulder as he slipped further down against Lambert's side.

Ciri shook her head and stood. "I think I've had enough of your show, as... lovely as it's been. I'll see you in the morning."

"You'll missss the great finale!" Jaskier called to her as if she had already left the room.

"You mean grand finale?" Ciri asked.

"Nooope. Great finale. Cause it'll be great," Jaskier smiled. Eskel shook his head.

"Both of you should go to bed," Geralt said. "You'll have bad enough hangovers in the morning as it is."

"One more song! Pleeeeaaasee?" Jaskier said as his eyes started to droop.

"Will you promise to shut up after?" Eskel said.

"Sure," Lambert nodded.

"Of course," Jaskier said.

Geralt shot them an equally tired and murderous look before rubbing a hand over his face. Clearly he wanted to get away from the two as fast as he could. Ciri almost felt bad for leaving him to suffer through the miserable fate of another song. Then again, the quiet, cozy warmth of her room was too good to pass up. 

"Good night then," Ciri waved at Jaskier and Lambert, who had started to giggle over something Jaskier had whispered into Lambert's ear. "And good luck," she said softer, this time looking between Eskel and Geralt. They both gave her halfhearted waves in return.

Ciri turned and left the room, closing the door with a light thud before she headed down the long hallway. Howling winds were beating against the side of the keep and breezes of cold air brushed against her. She pulled the shawl Jaskier had lent her tighter around her shoulders when she passed a broken window at the bottom of the stairs.

Geralt had been right about a storm passing through after all.

The keep wasn't much colder than usual, despite the sheets of snow brushing against the stone walls. The few lanterns that were lit cast eerie shadows on the walls but still gave off a warm glow that comforted her as the shrieking winds howled outside. Kaer Morhen was largely empty and in disrepair, but with the witchers and Jaskier here, it was the place she had felt safest in since her Grandmother had sent her away from Cintra's burning walls.

She had just reached the top step when a faint whisper reached her ears. Figuring it was just the sound of the storm outside, Ciri shrugged it off and kept walking. She was halfway down a hall when she heard it again, only this time it was unmistakably the sound several high-pitched voices saying something just quiet enough that she couldn't make it out.

Ciri's heart started to pound against her ribs and she stopped walking. Slowly, she moved her eyes around the hallway to look for any sign of movement that wasn't a flickering shadow from the lanterns' lights. Hearing nothing but the storm echoing through the hall, she took another step forward. As soon as her foot hit the floor, the lanterns flickered out and a freezing chill ran up her spine.

White spots flashed in Ciri's vision and stuck out against the darkness that engulfed the hall. Ciri shut her eyes and shivered so hard that her knees buckled and sent her tumbling to the floor. The chill swarmed over her body as if she were out in the snow instead of the safety of the keep, and the whisper suddenly returned as a medley of screeching voices that bounced off the walls around her.

_"Ess'tuath esse! Thus it shall be! Watch for the signs! What signs these shall be!"_

The voices disappeared as quickly as they came, though a chill still ran through her body. Once it slowly started to ebb away, Ciri opened her eyes and stared at the hall around her. The lights were back on as if they had never blown out and the faint streaks of falling snow were still just barely visible against the night sky from the window nearby.

Ciri stood on shaky legs and hugged her arms around herself. Wanting to get to her room as quickly as she could, she took off down the corridor and did her best not to stumble with each of her quick steps.

She yanked open her door and shut it with a slam as soon as she had stepped inside of her room. Small flames still flickered in her fireplace and the shutter on her window was latched tight, but a chilling cold still flowed through the room as it settled into her skin.

Ciri pulled off her boots but didn't bother to change out of her clothes before tugging open the covers to her bed. She laid down on the scratchy mattress and pulled the furs up to her chin. Closing her eyes, she did her best to block out the voices that had filled her ears, and focus on any warmth she still felt in her body.

It felt like ages before she was finally able to fall asleep. Once she did, she was greeted with far-off screams that echoed from a sea of white she couldn't seem to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter I've written for this so far and didn't even think it would be this long! And couldn't pass up on the chance to write a drunk Jaskier and Lambert, so here you go! Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated, love hearing what you all think! Thanks for reading!


	16. The Sword

"On your right!"

Ciri wobbled on one leg when Geralt called out to her. She stood on a stone peg that came up to Geralt's waist as she tried to maneuver around a large, swinging pendulum.

The heavy bag of hay nearly brushed her side as she regained her balance. Ciri locked her ankle and ducked when the pendulum swung toward her once again. This time, a wide girth of space stood between the bag and her body.

"Keep moving!" Geralt called out to her.

Ciri looked up at the pendulum as it slowed before swinging back down again. She hopped over to the second-to-last peg and arched her back just enough so that her body bent out of the pendulum's way. Her foot had only touched the peg for a moment before she turned around, taking off running over the pegs again and swerving out of the pendulum's path.

"She's getting good," Jaskier said from beside him. The bard had come outside to watch Ciri train not long after they had finished lunch.

"She'll need to have quicker reflexes before she moves on," Geralt grunted.

Jaskier's eyes widened. "You don't mean that she'll move on to the other, incredibly more scary pendulum, right? That girl isn't allowed anywhere near that deathtrap so long as I-"

"Blindfold," Geralt said. Jaskier went silent for a moment.

"Blindfolded? Are you out of your fucking mind? You want Ciri to dive out of the way of a spiked pendulum that could send her a thousand feet off the side of a mountain blindfolded?"

Geralt looked away from watching Ciri to give the bard something between a confused gaze and a glare.

"The next step in her training is for her to use a blindfold. Here," Geralt explained.

Jaskier seemed to settle at this. "Oh. Well, that's not too dangerous, I suppose."

Geralt shook his head once they had both turned back to watch Ciri, who was running over the pegs without pause even when the bag of hay came uncomfortably close to her side. The girl was a fast learner, Geralt noted. She listened to every instruction and piece of advice he shared, and worked hard to perfect whatever lesson he threw at her.

But they had only been at Kaer Morher for a few weeks. While she was progressing in her training quicker than he expected her to, she still wasn't anywhere near ready for the real pendulum yet. The one she was using now was an easier, safer version witchers had used to train their youngest recruits on when they first arrived at Kaer Morhen.

Geralt wasn't sure how long it would take for her to be ready for the dangerous equipment he and his brothers used to keep in shape. Or how long it would take for him to come around to the idea himself.

"Come down, Ciri."

The girl looked down at him with several strands of her ashen hair sticking to her damp forehead, despite the cold chill in the air. She hopped off a peg that was slightly crooked with age and landed in front of Geralt with a light thud on the packed snow and cold stone.

"Better?" she asked through tired breaths. He nodded.

"You're getting faster. And more agile," he started. "But you need to be weary of your left side. You react slower when the pendulum comes at you from that direction."

Her face was red and wet with small trails of sweat (she had been running the pegs for nearly three-quarters of an hour, after all) but she still took her cloak from Jaskier and wrapped it around her as if she had spent the afternoon stuck in an icy storm.

"Did I stumble as much as yesterday?" she asked as she pulled the heavy fabric tighter around her. Geralt inwardly frowned. She had kept herself wrapped in a cloak almost every minute she wasn't training for the last few weeks, even when they sat in the great hall at dinner or relaxed in an old study and traded stories from their travels with Jaskier and the other witchers.

"No. You seemed more sure on your feet," Geralt said. Ciri smiled widely, even if her teeth did chatter slightly. Jaskier swooped in and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. Geralt felt a small feeling of relief spread through him when she seemed to shake less with Jaskier blocking most of the cold breezes from hitting her side.

"I thought you were absolutely marvelous, dear! You dodged that bag of hay as if it were a regular foe," he grinned.

"A regular foe would have a sword," Ciri said, looking up at Geralt. That was another thing he had noticed recently; her frequent hints at wanting to use a weapon.

"Hmm," Geralt grunted in agreement. "Though that foe could have been a striga. Those kill quicker than any man with a blade."

"Or woman," she added with a slight tilt of her chin. Geralt felt his mouth quirk into a small smile.

"Or woman."

He heard footsteps crunch near the far wall of the courtyard. Vesemir's unmistakable scent of smoke, pine and old paper reached his nose shortly after.

"You'd better hurry inside before Vesemir finds that you're late for your lesson," he said.

"Can we train more after supper?" she asked.

"It will be dark then, Ciri," Jaskier added, looking down at her.

"Geralt trains at night with Eskel and Lambert all the time. Besides, if I'm learning to fight in the day, I should grow comfortable doing it in the dark. Vesemir said most monsters hunt at night," Ciri said. "Human and beast alike."

Geralt was quiet as he thought over her words. "We'll see. Go inside before Vesemir finds you. He's about to round the corner."

"But he can probably already sense that I'm here."

"Better run fast then."

Ciri huffed and pulled away from Jaskier. She quickly ran toward the keep's large front door and slipped inside just before Vesemir appeared from behind a stone wall.

"Keeping Ciri late again?" Vesemir said as he approached them.

"She'll be in your study when you get there," Geralt said.

"She'd better. The girl was nearly late twice last week. Once because of you and once because this one decided to torment the pigs," he said, gesturing to Jaskier.

"We were just feeding them," Jasier said.

"You don't need to ride the fattest hog's back to do that, bard."

Jaskier shifted on his feet. "I was just showing Ciri a trick."

"Hmm. A very necessary one, too, I'm sure," Vesemir shook his head. He looked over at Geralt. "Did you help Eskel fix the fence in the gardens? I saw a gnome eyeing the gate again this morning. Don't want the fuckers ruining the last of my winter squash."

"Finished this morning."

Vesemir nodded. "Sounds like you have some free time on your hands then. I heard Eskel and Lambert bickering over Gwent earlier. You and the bard should join them. Lambert could use a proper beating - something tells me this one could give it to him," the old witcher nodded toward Jaskier, earning him a smile from the bard.

"That's a proper assumption, indeed," Jaskier grinned.

Geralt didn't disagree. If there was one thing Jaskier was good at other than singing and thoroughly talking someone's ear off, it was any kind of game or gamble.

"I'll watch later. I need to head down to the old armory," he said. Vesemir stood up straighter, his face and shoulders growing just the slightest bit more tense. Geralt didn't blame him. He had felt a similar sense of unease crawling in his gut since he woke up this morning.

"You think she's ready for a sword?"

"Not quite. Just wanted to get it out of the way," Geralt said, taking a deep breath that was barely noticeable.

"Well, while you do that, I'll be whipping Lambert's ego into dust," Jaskier smiled and clapped a hand on Geralt's shoulder as he started to walk toward the keep. Neither of the witchers spoke until he was a few yards away.

"When was the last time you were down there?" Vesemir asked. Geralt didn't meet his eye, instead choosing to stare at the treeline.

"You can guess when."

They stayed quiet for a long moment. The sound of birds chirping and the breeze swaying in the bare trees filled the space between them until Vesemir spoke again.

"I'd give you some metal to forge one if we had any to spare. Eskel was supposed to buy more on his way here but was chased out of Waeken before he could. Those bastards never liked witchers."

"It's fine. Won't take long," Geralt said.

"Hmm," Vesemir grunted. "I'll see you at supper then."

The older witcher nodded and headed inside. Geralt's eyes roamed around the bright courtyard. The cold breeze brushed against his cheeks and made the last of the tall grasses that hadn't been covered in snow sway toward the mountains.

He didn't linger long, not wanting to push off his task anymore than he already had. He quickly made his way back inside the keep and stalked down its long hallways. Each one became more decrepit, dark and cold than the last. His breaths were coming out in puffs of white clouds by the time he descended down a dark stone staircase that was so thick with dust and dirt that it crunched under his boots with each step.

Geralt's eyesight adjusted to the darkness soon enough. The musty dampness of the keep's lower level filled his nose, and the sounds of mice and other small creatures scurrying across the floors that hadn't been covered with caved-in stone and debris rang in his ears.

He stepped forward and pulled open a rotted wooden door. Burying any hesitation deep into his gut, Geralt pressed forward and walked through the room with large strides.

He kept his eyes focused on the second door ahead of him, not wanting to see the small armor that was strewn about the floor or leaning against the walls. He especially didn't want to see the even smaller skeletons still resting inside them.

Vesemir said it would be wrong to move the bodies after the Sacking of Kaer Morhen. The boys had stood their ground and fought even after the elders sent them to the basement for protection. Geralt never knew any of them; he had been on the Path for years without pause when the mages attacked Kaer Morhen and nearly wiped out his school - the closest thing to family he had since his mother abandoned him as a boy.

Geralt's stomach still rolled when he thought about that night. He had been resting in a tavern in Kaedwen when a group of soldiers wandered in with the news. Never before had he ridden Roach so hard and so fast as he did on his way back to Kaer Morhen after the soldiers told the innkeep of how the mages and a mob of hateful fanatics had slaughtered the witchers and destroyed the keep.

The soldiers weren't entirely right, in the end. Most of the keep was still standing when Geralt arrived not three days after the attack. But the bodies of graying witchers and boys almost old enough to leave for the Path were rotting in Kaer Morhen's courtyard and battlements like soldiers who had fallen in battle. The stench of their slaughtered bodies reached him even before he arrived at the keep's battered gates.

He still remembered how the crows and vultures circled their corpses before pecking off chunks of their pale, bloodied skin. He remembered seeing Vesemir's broken face when he walked into the courtyard. The older witcher had muttered something about how he had traveled down to a village for supplies the night before the attack. He told Geralt he didn't know what had happened until he arrived back at the keep with bundles of metal he planned to use to make swords for the new boys who had just arrived.

It was the only time Geralt had seen Vesemir look like anything other than the stoic witcher he was raised by. That day, he seemed as if his mind was a thousand miles away from his body. Geralt hadn't felt much different.

Looking upon his friends as they lay in pools of their own blood was bad enough. But Geralt had never felt his body go as numb as it did when they found the slaughtered remains of small boys in the lower level of the keep.

It was clear the boys had tried to fight against whoever had brutally cut them down. The short hilts of small swords were still pressed against the palms of their limp hands when Vesemir and Geralt walked by their bodies. He could tell they had hastily tied on armor as a desperate attempt for protection by the way chunked knots of string held together their too-large breast plates.

Many of them hadn't been much older than Geralt was when he had first arrived at Kaer Morhen. They weren't even close to becoming witchers. And yet they were still killed all the same.

Geralt yanked open the door at the end of the room and closed it with a soft click. He looked around at the rows of small weapons on top of the tables that lined the room's walls.

Geralt didn't know why the witchers had kept the children-sized equipment down here exactly. He guessed it had something to do with keeping dangerous weapons that weren't too heavy for the boys to wield out of their reach when they weren't training. Melitele knew how often Geralt longed to sneak away from his chores to practice with a blade as a boy.

The corner of his mouth turned upwards into a sad smile when he noticed a certain sword sitting in the corner. It had a litter of dents in its dull metal blade; many of which were put there by his own sword when he trained with its owner as children.

Geralt and Fredrik practiced fighting after they finished whatever tasks or school work they were assigned nearly every day, once Vesemir deemed them old enough to keep their weapons with them. The red-headed boy often tried to get Geralt to sneak away from their lessons or disregard their chores. It was no surprise Fredrik had gotten more scoldings from Vesemir than anyone else Geralt grew up with. The boy was known for wandering about the keep with a mischievous glint in his eye.

A slightly larger sword leaned against the wall across from Fredrik's blade. This one had far fewer dents and scratches on it. Partly because Antoni usually knocked the other boys down before they could get any good blows in against the blade, and partly because the blonde Redanian had cared for and cleaned it religiously.

Geralt and Fredrik had teased him about it often. But Antoni never minded. Vesemir always praised him for the attention he showed his sword, while Geralt most often got a light cuff to the side of his head for leaving his own about the courtyard after they were done training for the day.

Faint memories of exploring the keep or sneaking into each other's rooms to play knuckle bones after curfew started to drift into Geralt's mind. He hadn't thought about his old friends in years. Or had tried not to, at least. Both boys were Geralt's closest companions growing up. And both had perished during their trials.

Geralt didn't look around at the other blades. He didn't know who most of them once belonged to, but it didn't matter. They were down here for one of two reasons; either the boys who owned them had outgrown them, or they never lived long enough to need a bigger blade.

He stepped forward when he saw the weapon he was looking for. It was somewhat dented but still in good shape, and looked to be about the right size for Ciri, if a bit bigger than what she might be ready for. He gently picked it up and ran his fingers over the cool blade.

The first time he held it was shortly after his 12th birthday. It was the first silver sword Vesemir had given him, and he cared for it just as religiously as Antoni had with his blades. Silver swords were the most important tools witchers had, other than their own knowledge and senses, after all. And they were often the difference between life and death when it came to battling monsters.

Another sword next to where it had rested on the table looked like it might be better suited to someone of Ciri's size and stature, but Geralt couldn't bring himself to choose it for her instead. Or any of the others. It would feel too much like he was desecrating a grave if he did.

Geralt slid the weapon into his belt and grabbed a small wooden practice sword from a pile of them in the corner before leaving the room and going back inside the makeshift crypt. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as he once again walked past the dozen or so small skeletons at his feet, and did his best to ignore the nagging thought that some of them weren't much smaller than Ciri.

* * *

Cahir's boots pressed into the snowy ground with a resounding crunch each time he stepped forward.

Dim light from torches that had been unceremoniously shoved into the frozen ground flickered against the right side of his face as he stalked through the rows of soldiers. The hem of his oil-black cloak was coated with a frosting of snow and ice, and large clumps of snowflakes stuck to his greasy hair.

Cahir stared impassively at the soldiers as he moved by them. He had done his best to mold them into the unflinching soldiers he needed them to be, but many still shook so hard that it sounded as if their ribs knocked together each time the howling wind brushed over them.

There was a time in his life where he wouldn't have faulted them for this. Many of his men had been little more than southern boys who had never known a brutal winter storm, or had never even seen snow before they trekked north as Nilfgaardian soldiers.

He remembered the first freezing night he had spent as a soldier sleeping in a thin cloth tent that barely kept out the snow, let alone shrieking winds. His limbs had been so chilled that it felt almost impossible to move them enough to march closer to the battlefield with his fellow soldiers the next morning. He had feared his shoulders would be too busy shaking from the cold to help lift his arms high enough to swing a sword.

He was a different man then. Rather, a naive boy who didn't know how to knock down fear and discomfort when it threatened to stand in the way of his duty.

"Stand taller!" he barked. The sound of metal grating against metal rang through the air as the soldiers around him straightened up their stance.

"The emperor would be ashamed to see his men buckle under something as trivial as a winter storm," he continued, calling out over the winds. "So tell me, if an army as impenetrable and unprecedented as our own could defeat one of the greatest kingdoms to have ever ruled on this continent, why can't we last three days in a bit of cold without men deserting our ranks? Dishonoring our ruler?"

Cahir turned and pointed at three spikes that stood at the front of his troops. A bloodied, frostbitten head had been jammed through the sharp top of each one.

The men the heads once belonged to had been found camping out deep inside the nearby forest with two week's worth of rations they had stolen from the army's cooks. Cahir had joined a group of scouts to help find them once a patrolman reported seeing them run into the brush with bundles in their arms early this morning.

Tracking them down took up the majority of his day, but that was alright. It was important that he made example of them; showed his men what would happen if they turned their back on their empire when it needed them most.

He craned his head to his left when the sound of someone running toward him reached his ears. A skinny, short soldier stopped beside him.

"Mistress Fringilla said it's ready, Sir," the boy said through heavy breaths. Cahir felt his heart start to pound faster in his chest.

"Keep them here until the last flake has fallen," Cahir said to one of his generals. "They'll need to learn to weather this storm if they hope to beat the next."

He continued through the row of men and quickly walked toward an unsuspecting tent in the middle of the camp. He pushed open its gray flap to reveal a large, intricate laboratory filled with potions, herbs, and a warm mist wafting from a dark cauldron in the middle of the room. A woman in silver robes stood beside it.

"You've finished?" he asked, the reflection of the room's candles glimmering in his cold eyes.

Fringilla scooped up a ladle-full of milky liquid from the cauldron and poured it into a vile.

"Take a look for yourself," she said, holding it out to him.

He took the vile from her hand and stared at the contents inside. A pale blonde hair swirled in the liquid when he held the vile up to a light.

"I would have finished the potion much sooner if our source had collected the final ingredient more swiftly."

"Don't fault him. It can be difficult to come across wolfsbane in winter. Especially during a full moon," Cahir said.

"Mousesack likely would have had some we could have taken, had the men not burned his stores. He was always a fanatic when it came to the supernatural," Fringilla drawled.

"That explains why he stayed in Cintra to help raise a child as unique and otherworldly as Cirilla," Cahir said, still looking at the vile. "Have you found her location yet?"

"No. I thought you should be here," the mage said with a hint of a smile. Cahir nodded.

Fringilla took back the vile and held it in front of her. She closed her eyes and waved a hand over its open top.

" _Ujawnij miejsce tych, których nie widać,"_ the mage said, her voice soft enough to almost sound like a gentle hum. " _Połącz ich ponownie z ich losem._ "

The vile in her hand began to glow as she spoke the last word. Her eyes fluttered opened and she stared at vile, the liquid's white light shining bright in her round, dark pupils.

After a long moment, the brightness faded away and the flames of pale candles once again became the room's only source of light. Fringilla corked the vile and set it down on her work bench.

"The princess is in a keep hidden deep within the mountains of Kaedwen," she said. "The pass that leads to it starts near the Gwenllech river."

Cahir felt a small smile form on his thin lips and he turned to leave. "I'll tell the generals to ready the men. We'll leave at dawn."

"The pass is long and treacherous. Nearly 20 feet of snow will fill its trails by the time we reach it, and ten more would fall on our soldiers before they reached the keep," Fringilla said.

"You could remove it with your magic."

"Not before half our forces froze from the cold. Even the witchers avoid the mountainside in the dead of winter, fearful of the brutal storms that whip against it."

Cahir paused. "Where is Cirilla exactly?"

"She's hidden at Kaer Morhen, the home to the witcher school of the wolf," Fringilla said. "A dangerous place, if we aren't properly prepared."

"What's a few witchers compared to our 40,000 men?" he shrugged.

"The mountainside is hardly suited for soldiers when it isn't thick with ice, snow and horrid storms," the mage said. "If our lord hopes to keep the most impressive army this continent has ever seen in tact, I advise we wait until after the trail thaws."

Cahir walked over to the table and picked up the vile. He stared at the long, ashen hair inside of it once more.

"And if this delay keeps us from our fate for too long, we won't have an army to preserve," he said.

"Waiting a season won't make any difference. We have some time on our side, even if it doesn't seem to be much," Fringilla said. She stepped forward and placed a cold hand on Cahir's armored shoulder. "It is vital that our forces be strong both in body and in number by the time the Wild Hunt arrives. Otherwise, our work will waste away to nothing before our eyes."

Cahir continued to stare at the vile as he mulled over the mage's words.

"He won't be pleased to hear of a delay," he started, setting down the glass container on the wooden table with a soft clink. "But if what you saw is correct, we have no choice but to wait."

Fringilla nodded. "I'll send word back to court."

The mage dipped her head once more before she stepped forward and disappeared through the tent's thin flap. Cahir didn't bother to follow her right away.

The sound of the potion bubbling as it continued to brew over crackling flames filled the room. But instead of allowing himself to focus on the white noise coming from the cauldron and the storm as it whipped against the tent - allowing himself a moment to regroup after his task changed yet again - his mind was already busy planning for the battles ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quicker update this time! Hoping you all enjoyed, let me know what you think in the comments! Till next time :)


	17. The Prophecy - Part 1

"Can you pass me a spoon, dear? One of the big ones."

Ciri handed Jaskier the utensil with her hand that wasn't kneading dough. Or trying to, at least. The thin, sticky substance wasn't doing too well at doing anything other than deflating into a puddle of goop instead of rolling into a thick loaf that would be baked for breakfast the next morning.

Ciri leaned over and peered into the pot, basking in the warmth of the flames that brushed over her chilled body. She hadn't been able to shake said chill in weeks.

If she wasn't wrapped in her cloak, a shawl was draped over her shoulders when she wasn't training or busy doing chores. And if she wasn't nestled deep under her bed covers as flames lapped against the inside of her hearth, it was nearly impossible to ignore the chills completely, even if she was able to keep herself from shivering.

She wasn't used to the harsh cold of the mountains, but didn't think much of it. She figured it took every new recruit at least some time to adjust to the beating winds and bitter temperatures that came with living at Kaer Morhen.

Several bubbles slowly expanded before they popped through a green film that covered the top of the stew. She looked over at Jaskier with a raised brow.

"Did you make this right?"

"I'm sure of it. Smells good," he said, putting his head closer to the stew and inhaling deeply. His eyes widened and he blinked a few times. "More or less."

Jaskier stared at the pot in silence for a few seconds. His fingers tapped on the table and Ciri could tell he was biting down on the inside of his cheek. Without a word, he grabbed the pitcher of milk that sat near the edge of the table and poured some of it into the pot. Ciri quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him from adding more.

"Geralt said too much milk would spoil it," she said.

"Geralt hardly has a leg to stand on when it comes to cooking. Do you know how many times I had to suffer through the sickly vermin he caught and roasted on the road?" the bard gently pulled his hand from her grasp and continued pouring in the milk until the stew neared the brim of the large pot. "I'll never forget when he decided to try to season a particularly plump pair of charred rabbits for the first time. The damn witcher gave me a whole bundle of thyme to chew on, instead of cutting the leaves up like a sane person. The roots even still had dirt on them!"

Ciri giggled. "It's nice that he tried. Even witchers must get sick of plain, tough meat."

"Probably had something to do with the witch being there," he muttered. "He always tried to impress that cranky bitch."

She looked up at Jaskier while he kept stirring the stew. She wondered if the witch he meant might be the same mage whose name had been tucked away in the back of her mind since she had found Geralt. She was about to pry for more information when something ignited over the other side of the fire.

"Jaskier-"

"Shit!" he nudged Ciri out of the way. He used the bottom of his heavy apron, which had been stained with just about every ingredient they had used so far, to pick up the pan that held a now flaming hunk of deer meat. Ciri grabbed a pitcher of water and doused the meat with it after Jaskier dropped the pan on the table with a loud clang.

"For fuck's sake," he sighed and put his hands on his hips. He quickly lifted one again to point a finger at Ciri. "You didn't hear that."

She rolled her eyes before looking down at the black meat. How it had burnt so quickly, she wasn't sure.

"I'm proposing a new rule tonight: Eskel isn't allowed to go hunting with the others unless dinner is prepared beforehand. Melitele knows he's the only one around here with a decent aptitude for making meals. Why they thought we could cook - really cook - is beyond me."

"Is the deer ruined?" Ciri asked.

Jaskier picked up a forked and poked it. "Hopefully not. We'll have to eat it either way, I suppose. They'll be back soon and want dinner right away. I would be lying if I said it isn't fun to poke at Lambert, but I don't dare do it when he's hungry."

Ciri nodded. Lambert, Geralt, and Eskel had left just before dawn for a day-long hunt. Geralt said they needed more meat for the winter, but with the storehouse packed with skinned deer carcuses and hunks of frozen meat, she assumed it was more of a chance for the witchers to catch up with each other after spending at least several seasons apart. Or more, in Geralt's case.

Vesemir had yet to come out of his study all day, leaving Ciri and Jaskier with nothing to do for the first time since they arrived. They had taken advantage of their rare day off from chores and training, first exploring parts of the grounds they had yet to wander into (while still staying near the keep's many walls) before settling into the library for the afternoon to read books and listen to the sweet sound of Jaskier strumming his lute.

Ciri had enjoyed lounging about the keep and relaxing - truly relaxing - for the first time since they had arrived. But part of her longed to join Geralt and the others. If she was training to be like a witcher, she wanted to see just how they moved, stalked, and killed their targets in real life.

"Do you think Geralt will let me hunt with him?"

"Maybe someday. While you're progressing beautifully on that mini deathtrap-"

"-pendulum."

"-deathtrap," Jaskier repeated. "I think cooking this deer is the closest thing you'll get to hunting one for a bit longer."

Ciri frowned as she kept kneading the dough. They worked in silence for the next few minutes, with Jaskier cutting bits of carrots and dropping them in the stew while Ciri worked away at the sticky mess in her hands. No matter how hard she tried to shape it, the dough wouldn't do what she wanted it to.

"This isn't looking the way Eskel said it would," she huffed. "I think I need to start over."

"Nonsense. I may not be a master chef, but I know better than to give up on a dish and waste good ingredients. You have the base of what you need here already," he said, taking the dough from her hands. "You just need to give it a little more of what will help make it stick together and rise," he took a handful of flour and dropped it on the dough.

Jaskier rolled the dough onto itself and pressed his palms into it to mix in the white powder. After repeating the motion a few times, it finally seemed like the dough could be properly shaped. He handed it back to her with a grin.

"See? Perseverance: an important trait. Not that I need to tell you that."

Jaskier turned away just in time to miss Ciri's smile. She kneaded the dough together several times more before she picked it up again and plopped it into a pan.

* * *

"This is shite," Lambert sputtered, dropping his spoon down on the table with a clang.

"It's not that bad," Eskel said, taking another bite. He didn't wince like Lambert did, but he didn't dip his spoon back into the bowl for more right away, either.

Geralt put his first spoonful to his lips. He knew it was all wrong before he even put it in his mouth - he could smell how sour it was as soon as the bard put the pot on the table. He turned to look at Jaskier, who was sitting across from him, once he had finished swallowing the chunky, greenish broth.

"You added too much milk."

Jaskier rolled his eyes. Ciri crossed her arms.

"Told you," she huffed.

"I'm sure it's delicious. You lot-" he pointed between Geralt and Lambert. "-just like to make a fuss whenever the moment seems opportune. A right spoiled pair of witchers, you are."

"Says the man who was nearly inconsolable when the sole of his slipper ripped open last week," Ciri giggled.

"They were a gift from a countess who is a very dear friend of mine," the bard huffed. "Whose side are you on, anyway? You helped make this!"

"Just shut up and try it, bard," Lambert grunted.

In one fluid motion, Jaskier scooped some of the stew out of his bowl and shoved it into his mouth. He flashed them a triumphant smile once he pressed his lips together, but it didn't last long. His eyes widened and it was clear he was holding back a string of coughs, or gags (Geralt couldn't be sure which) as he swallowed the stew.

"You're right. That was rotted," he cleared his throat and tugged on his collar. "Pass me some of the roast. I need help washing that down," he said and pressed his cup of ale to his lips.

"Too bad we can't cook up the elk we caught. That plump bastard would make a good steak," Lambert leaned back in his chair.

Geralt didn't really care what they ate. Food was food, and after traveling the path for more years than he could try to count, he wasn't picky. Anything cooked in a kitchen was better than having to dig for roots or hunting frail rabbits when he had been kicked out of inns that were only close to barren forests torched by war.

"Where did you go hunting?" Ciri asked.

"Near Kraeger's valley, about two hours south of the keep," Eskel said after he'd swallowed a large chunk of meat. "Most of the elk head down that way for the winter and graze near a wide lake there in the spring. It's a nice place."

"That must be lovely. I'd love to see it," Ciri said. Geralt caught her bright green eyes glancing over at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Someday," he said. _Once you can fight off the monsters that stalk the narrow paths on the way there._

Ciri seemed satisfied enough with that answer. At least she didn't pester him about it further. She'd already hinted at wanting to hunt with them or explore the forests beyond the keep several times this week alone, and asked him directly once the week before.

Geralt didn't blame her for wanting to see what was beyond Kaer Morhen's walls. He remembered daydreaming of hiking up the narrow passes and climbing the giant trees he could see from his window when he first arrived to the keep as a boy; to see more of the place that had become his home. He remembered dreaming of the forests even more in the week's after his trials, when he had been confined to his bed to recover from horrible poisons that he almost wished had killed him.

That pain was the worst Geralt had ever experienced. It felt endless, and the only thing that was able to pull him away from the throbbing jolts of agony in his limbs and numbing grief pulling at his gut was the sight of the mountains' rocky cliffs.

"Catch anything other than elk?" Jaskier said as he shoved another slice of meat into his mouth.

"No, but we found werewolf markings near Haggard's cliff," Lambert said.

"Grandmother said werewolves weren't real," Ciri said, her eyes widening with curiosity.

"What kind of stories did you hear in that pretty palace of yours? Of course they're real," Lambert said. "One nearly got me near Vizima when I first started out on the Path."

"Did you kill it... er, him?" Jaskier asked.

"Her, and no. Led her down to a swamp, where she got stuck in mud. Was a pretty thing when she wasn't a hairy fucker trying to claw my arm off," Lambert grumbled as one of the hall doors opened. Geralt and Eskel nodded when they saw Vesemir come in.

"How do you help a werewolf? If they're really human, you can't just kill them, right?" Ciri said.

"Most can be saved with a potion, if their transformation is recent enough," Vesmir answered, catching her attention. "But some become more beast than man as the years go on and some stay in that state forever, if they're forced to live isolated in the wild long enough. Most are cast out of their villages as soon as their neighbors find out they've been turned."

Ciri furrowed her brows. "Surely, they could do something to help them? Lock them up in a basement during a full moon or something? They're still human, even if they don't always seem it."

Geralt saw something soften in Vesemir's eyes. It was just subtle enough that it would only be noticeable to someone who had known him as long as he had. The older witcher took a seat beside Lambert as he answered.

"You would hope, but humanity often fails to lend any of its kindness to others. Especially those who don't seem human at first glance."

Ciri looked down at her bowl thoughtfully. Her pale skin and even paler hair faintly appeared in the reflection of her untouched stew.

"Enough with that depressing shit. I need a proper drink," Lambert grunted and stood up from the table. He walked across the room and opened a cabinet in the corner that contained bottles of different ales that were distinguishable only by the slight difference in their shades of brown.

"How deep are the passes? I feel another storm coming. Wouldn't be surprised if you couldn't get to Vel Tarek by the end of the week," Vesemir said, referring to clearing farther down on the mountain that was dotted with old, crumbling foundations of an elven village that had been abandoned long before witchers ever stepped foot in Kaedwen.

"You'd be right. We had to clear a whole section near the river of snow before we could go any further," Eskel said. "If Coën was planning on coming, I'd say he missed his chance."

"He wrote not three days ago. He's gotten tied up with contracts in the south," Vesemir said. Geralt noticed Ciri turn her head toward the older witcher.

"I wouldn't mind spending a winter or two down there. It would be a nice break from freezing my balls off with you lot," Lambert said as he came back to the table with a pitcher. "Want some gull?"

Geralt pushed his mug forward. Eskel and Jaskier did the same.

"Uh-uh bard. This stuff isn't for humans. Not unless you want to be on the floor watching the ceiling turn pink," Eskel said.

"Doesn't sound like such an unpleasant experience," Jaskier shrugged with a smile. It quickly faded when he saw the glare Geralt sent him. He pulled his mug away, and Geralt was glad of it. The last thing he wanted to do was drag a drugged-up, likely paranoid bard off to bed after dinner. It was bad enough having to do so when he was just a stumbling drunk.

"It's a shame he couldn't make it," Eskel said. "Though I don't blame him. I crossed paths with him in Gael over the summer. He said he'd had trouble finding contracts that paid anything more than 50 crowns."

"He's found good work in Nilfgaard. With all the men away fighting, he said there are fewer swords around to ward off any beasts threatening villages," Vesemir said as he took a cup of gull from Lambert. "He's getting paid handsomely, by the way he spoke."

Ciri set down her spoon against the wooden table with a soft clink. Her face was more serious than Geralt had recalled seeing it in weeks. "Why would he help Nilfgaard?"

"He's not helping Nilfgaard, child. He's doing his job; killing monsters for hopefully good pay," Vesemir said. "It doesn't matter where or when."

"It should. They kill innocent people," she frowned.

"As do monsters. A Nilfgaardian child that gets plucked out of his mother's garden by a wyvern is no different than the child it snatched away from Temeria," Vesemir said. "Or the one from Cintra."

Ciri flickered her eyes back down to the table.

"It's not our place to decide who to help based on politics. Witchers don't get involved in wars or courts," Geralt said, setting down his mug of gull next to Ciri's mug of water. She turned and looked up at him with her brows set in a hard line.

"You did."

Geralt tensed. He didn't quite know what to say to that. _You didn't mean to_ , he thought. But even then, he knew that wasn't totally the case

"We all have in some way or another," Vesemir said. "Every witcher was human once, and we still are in many ways. But if we allowed ourselves to take sides and fight with those who try to rule us, we'd be used as weapons and destroyed. Our way of life would be lost forever."

Ciri looked back down at the table. "Wonder what that's like..." she muttered. Something in Geralt's chest tightened at her words.

"Ciri-" Jaskier started before she cut him off.

"Can you pass the bread, please?"

Jaskier's expression tightened but he did as she asked. Ciri grabbed the bread from him and ripped off a piece before shoving it in her mouth. The room was quiet, and for the first time Geralt could recall in a while, too quiet, at that.

"Well, I'd still like a fucking vacation at some point," Lambert said. "Maybe to the coast, if the south's off limits."

Eskel kicked him under the table. Lambert jerked and glared at the scarred witcher.

"What? The coast is nice," Lambert argued. "Went there to clear out a cave of horned grents once. It took three days and I nearly lost an arm, but the views were great and the food was even better. I even took another contract just to stay at an inn that had a sort of clam soup. The shit was to die for."

"Apparently," Eskel shook his head.

"Like you didn't take contracts outside Novigrad for a month so you could stick around the same whorehouse not three summers ago," Lambert snorted. Eskel glared at him.

"If you want a good place to visit, Toussaint is absolutely lovely in the spring. The flowers are gorgeous and the wine there is simply delightful," Jaskier said. He looked around the table, frowning slightly after.

"Looking for something, bard?" Vesemir said in his gravelly voice.

"I don't see the salt. I'll go grab it from the cupboard," Jaskier said and made to stand up. Geralt beat him to it.

"I'll get it," he grunted and pushed his chair back. Geralt felt like he needed to move; to do... something. Sitting silently next to a sullen Ciri was making him more uneasy by the moment.

Geralt watched Jaskier sink back into his seat with a surprised look while Eskel and Lambert started chatting with Vesemir about a patch of prickly brush they were planning on clearing out from beside the pasture tomorrow. He stepped back from the table and moved across the room.

He opened the dark cabinet and grabbed a jar of salt from the bottom shelf, before shutting the door and turning to walk back to the table. Just as he was about to pass Vesemir, he saw a mug that had just been pressed against Ciri's lips slip from her hand and hit the ground with a clang. The witchers snapped their attention to the girl just as her eyes glazed over and she fell from the chair. Geralt felt himself go stiff when her body hit the floor and grew completely still.

"Ciri?" Jaskier said with wide eyes as he jumped up from his seat. The other witchers quickly followed.

The salt fell from Geralt's hand and he was at the girl's side not a moment later. Ciri had landed on her side and remained unmoving, her ashen hair soaking in a dark brown liquid that had spilled from the mug that had fallen from her hand.

Geralt grasped Ciri by her shoulders and turned her body toward his. He felt his heart start to both speed up and sink deeper into his chest when he saw how white her skin had become.

"Ciri," he muttered, shaking her slightly. It didn't seem to do anything to wake her. "Ciri!"

Geralt felt Jaskier and Vesemir crowd around him, with Lambert and Eskel stopped not far behind. Vesemir knelt beside him and picked the mug up from stone floor.

"She drank your gull. Must have thought it was her mug," Vesemir muttered.

"How the fuck would that do this to her? It's not toxic to humans," Geralt said, his voice rising with each word.

"Is she allergic to something?" Jaskier said quickly through shaky breaths.

"Not sure," Geralt's grasp on her shoulders tightened. _Fuck_ , he thought. _Should have known that._

"Lambert, get a bezoar and smelling salts from my stores down the hall," Vesemir called out to the younger witcher, who disappeared from the room within seconds.

"Has this happened before?" Eskel asked. A worried look pulled at his scarred face.

Geralt shook his head, not bothering to look at his brother. He shifted Ciri so her neck was nestled in the crook of one of his arms. He used his free hand to press two fingers against the side of her neck. Her steady heartbeat thrummed against the tips of his fingers. It settled some of the panic inside of him, even though he had already been able to sense her heartbeat even before he reached her side.

"Maybe it's nothing?" Jaskier said, a hopeful yet still uncertain tone to his voice. "She's been training a lot recently, maybe she's just tired?"

Geralt felt some anger bubble in his gut at that. He hadn't pushed her so hard that she would be this exhausted from their lessons, and he'd been keeping an eye on her to make sure he wasn't running her too ragged. After all, he knew what it was like to be pushed too far needlessly. He did his best to make sure he wasn't doing the same to her.

He went to growl a response in his defense but the words stopped at his lips. A creeping sense of doubt tugged at his mind. Maybe this was somehow his fault - he couldn't be sure that it wasn't. Geralt didn't know if he'd been giving Ciri everything she needed. Hell, he didn't have the slightest idea of how to properly care for a 13-year-old girl, especially if she was royalty and had a power unlike any other he'd seen, save for Pavetta.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, an icy wind swept over the room and blew out the candles lining the walls. Small puffs of white clouds came out with their breaths and he sensed Jaskier wrap his arms around himself for warmth.

"Geralt?" Jaskier shifted beside him. The witcher didn't look up at him. Instead, he stared down at the girl in his arms with wide eyes as he felt her body grow as cold as the air around him.

Ciri's eyes suddenly flashed open. She sat up with a jolt and focused a wide, empty gaze on the wall in front of her. She didn't look like someone who had just came to after fainting. Geralt didn't even think she looked quite like herself.

Jaskier reached out toward her but stopped when what sounded like a hundred screeching voices started pouring from her lips. The noise bounced off the walls with such ferocity that Geralt could feel its vibrations run down his spine and settle between his ribs.

_"The world will die amidst frost and be reborn with the new sun. It will be reborn of Elder Blood, of Hen Ichaer, of the seed that has been sown. A seed which will not sprout but burst into flame."_

The last note scraped against Geralt's ears and left a faint echo that didn't seem to fade from the room until Ciri had collapsed back into his arms and the candles around them reignited.

For several long moments, the witchers and Jaskier were completely still. Lambert stood frozen in the doorway, with a hand clutching the supplies Vesemir had sent him after so tight that his knuckles were white. Eskel's mouth was slightly agape and Vesemir's brows were furrowed together so tightly that the creases on his forehead looked as if they would never smooth out. Jaskier was breathing heavily and clutching the fabric of his pants, while Geralt felt frozen in his spot, worried that whatever came over Ciri would return if he moved her even the slightest bit.

Ciri ended up being the first to move. Her tired eyes opened and stared up at the ceiling as they refocused. Geralt's chest tightened even more when her gaze flickered over to met his own.

"Geralt?" she croaked. "Wh-what happened?"

His lips stayed stuck together as he tried to find the words to explain something he had no idea how to describe. Vesemir moved closer to them and put a hand on Ciri's shoulder. His face was still tense but seemed to relax when she looked up at him.

"You fainted, child. How do you feel?"

Ciri looked down at her body, like she was still trying to determine just that. "Tired," she finally decided.

"Can you stand?" Vesemir asked. Ciri nodded slowly.

"I think so," she said and leaned forward. She pressed a leg into the ground to stand with Geralt's help, his body moving on its own while his mind tried to catch up. He loosened his grip when she was on both feet, but tightened his arms around her again to catch her when she swayed backwards and nearly fell.

The girl was fighting to keep her drooping eyes open when she looked up at him. Despite the tired look that glazed over her green irises and how close she seemed to be to passing out from exhaustion, Geralt could sense fear prickling off of her skin; the same fear she'd had after her nightmares.

That, at least, he was familiar with. Starting to feel like his mind was moving back into his body, his tense muscles loosened a bit and he finally spoke.

"It's alright," he grunted quietly. Ciri nodded and leaned into him. Gently, he put an arm under her legs and kept the other around her shoulders. She was asleep only seconds after he had lifted her up and cradled her against his chest.

"The fuck was that?" Lambert said after a moment.

"The end of the world, apparently," Jaskier said, his voice just above a whisper. It made Geralt's gut tighten up.

"Bring her to her room," Vesemir nodded at Geralt. He turned to Eskel and Lambert. "Can you two clean up supper?"

The witchers nodded.

"Good. I'll meet you upstairs in a moment, Wolf," he said to Geralt. Vesemir moved across the room and walked through an archway, leaving the three witchers, bard and sleeping princess in empty silence.

Lambert walked over to the table, glancing at Ciri as he passed her on his way to pick up the pot of stew. Eskel lingered a moment longer before he moved toward Geralt's half-empty plate. Neither witcher picked up the mug that laid on its side on the floor.

Geralt took a step forward. He didn't look back at his brothers or puddle of gull by where Ciri had sat, and walked away from the table with Jaskier in tow.

The echoes of Jaskier's heavy footsteps were the only sound in the hallways as they moved through the keep. It stayed that way even after the bard pushed open Ciri's door and Geralt laid her down on her bed.

Ciri hadn't straightened her blankets out that morning, despite Vesemir's stern reminders to keep her room in order. Geralt grabbed one of the corners of a heavy pelt and pulled it over her. He sat on the edge of her bed with a sigh stuck in his throat and stared down at her.

The girl was powerful; much more powerful than he would have guessed when he first laid eyes on her trembling form in the forest. He always knew there would be a chance his child surprise would have the same gift as Pavetta, and he had been prepared to deal with that if, for some reason, he ever decided to claim the child.

That was back when he still had Yenn, or could have at least asked Triss for help if he couldn't track down the fiery, violet-eyed sorceress. She had shown him a rare kindness back in Foltest's court and again during the few times they had crossed paths in the years after. He saw no reason why she wouldn't help a child who needed magical guidance as much as Ciri. But if the rumors were true, neither woman would be able to help him now.

The thought made a rare jolt of raw fear run through his chest.

Jaskier cleared his throat. "She looks peaceful. Whatever that was seems to have passed," he said softly. He moved one of Ciri's bunched up dresses from the chair near the bed and plopped down in it. "I just hope we never have to see it again."

Geralt didn't move, nor try to form something to say.

The door creaked open and Vesemir stepped inside the room. He stopped at the edge of the bed and stood beside Geralt, leaning down slightly to place a hand on Ciri's forehead.

"She's a bit cold, but seems alright," he said and straightened back up.

"What do you think brought that on? She was completely fine before. It was so... sudden," Jaskier said.

"Gull has hallucinogens in it that can be especially strong for humans. My guess is that's what triggered that prophecy," Vesemir sighed.

Geralt pulled his suddenly sharp gaze away from Ciri and looked up at the witcher.

"Don't give me that look, boy. You know as well as I that what came out of her mouth wasn't a rhyme from her nursemaid," Vesemir grunted. "I assume neither of you know what she was talking about."

Jaskier shook his head. Geralt stayed silent.

"Hmm," Vesemir grunted. "She said a name during it, at least. I'm going to see if I can find any mention of it in the library. In the meantime, here's a restorative potion for her when she wakes up, if she needs it."

Vesemir placed a vile on the crooked table next to the bed. Geralt thought it would tip over and roll off, if the right wind hit it. The witcher left the room without another word, leaving Geralt alone with Ciri and Jaskier.

The bard was unusually quiet as he went to spark a fire in the hearth, and when he occasionally got up to poke the logs to keep the flames burning. Geralt almost wished he would speak. He needed a distraction from the screeching voices that still churned in his head, especially the last line Ciri had uttered before she collapsed against him. Those words clutched at his heart more than any of the others, and played in his mind over and over again as he watched his child surprise sleep.

_"... a seed which will not sprout but burst into flame."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Another 5,000+ chapter. Hope you all enjoyed! I love writing some good angst, especially if it revolves around Geralt's perspective! Also, the prophecy was directly taken from the books. I also used a piece of it a few chapters ago. Some parts of this story are based off the show/books with some minor stuff from the games (though most of it is just one big head cannon), so there will be some spoilers ahead. I'm sort of cherry-picking, since I love all three. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me through a bit of a wait! Let me know what you thought in the comments! I love hearing all of your feedback :) 
> 
> Side note: I am a horrible cook and have no idea if milk really belongs in stew, but a quick google search showed a recipe for that had milk in it so I ran with it. Apologies to any professional chefs who might be reading this lol.


	18. The Prophecy - Part 2

The dull streams of morning sun peeked in through the window and streaked over Ciri's bed.

Geralt shifted his rickety chair closer to the sleeping girl, knowing the rays would soon grow stronger and hit the side of his face. He stilled when the chair's legs creaked loudly as he moved the seat over, worried the sudden noise might startle Ciri. But the young princess was completely unmoving, save for the way her chest rose and fell with each of her steady breaths.

Geralt had taken the chair after convincing Jaskier to go to bed. The witcher was wired to stay awake and alert under stress. The bard, human as ever, was not. He was glad he only had to string together a short few sentences and a series of grunts before Jaskier agreed to drag his bleary-eyed, sluggish self to his room across the hall not more than three hours ago. Knowing Jaskier, it would be a good several more before he would see him again.

A log in the fireplace cracked apart and hit the stone floor below it, dragging Geralt's attention away from the dark wall across the room. A small cascade of flames burst from the logs before the fire shrunk to a smaller size than it was before. Only a few logs were left in a pile on the floor beside the hearth. Geralt made a note to bring more up for Ciri at some point today, preferably after the girl woke up from whatever deep slumber she had stayed in since she passed out in his arms in the great hall.

Part of him felt like he was still sitting at the table eating Jaskier's terrible stew while listening to Lambert take jabs at the bard and Eskel. It was like he couldn't fully convince himself to believe that what came next actually happened; that his child surprise would simply slip out of her seat before saying some of the most ominous and terrifying things he had ever heard.

It wasn't just the words she used that had struck a chord of fear buried so deep inside of him that he had almost forgotten it was there. No, it was also the way the girl seemed so pale and vulnerable right after. Just like now as she laid nestled under the covers of her bed.

Geralt thought he would be able to keep her safe from any threat with her finally under his protection. As a seasoned witcher, it was his job to defeat even the worst monsters that roamed the darkest corners of the continent. But this one - whatever thing had processed Ciri - was something so foreign and terrifying to him that, for the first time in decades, he felt entirely defenseless. Even the massive Niflgaardian army that was undoubtedly still searching for the girl seemed like something he could take on more easily than this.

A pair of boots shuffled softly toward the door. Eskel opened it slowly a few moments later, trying to remain quiet when he saw that Ciri was still asleep. He placed a plate of bread and jerky on a small table next to her.

"Has she stirred at all?" he asked quietly. Geralt shook his head. She hadn't moved at all since he had laid her down last night.

"I guess it makes sense. I'm sure I'd be exhausted too, if that shit happened to me," Eskel said. Geralt didn't respond.

The scarred witcher leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, blocking a few tears in the shirt that had clearly been sewn up with a thread at least two shades too light for the fabric. He watched the girl silently for a moment. Geralt didn't bother looking up when he felt his brother's glowing eyes shift from her pale face to his.

"Are you alright, Geralt?"

"Mhmm," he grunted. Eskel let out something that sounded like tired chuckle.

"Usually, I consider myself pretty good at deciphering your grunts. But I can't say that was a clear answer."

"I'm fine," he muttered. The small hint of a playful grin fell from Eskel's face.

"I know you well enough to know when something's eating at you, even if you do a good job hiding it. Though it's clear what it is this time," he said and looked back down at Ciri.

Geralt was quiet as he tried to string his thoughts into some sort of sentence. Eskel didn't seem to mind; the witcher had known him long enough to know that these things didn't come easy to him.

There was a time when Eskel would have mocked him for his reserved nature with a fiery insult or two. They had both been raised in the same class of recruits and never got along well as boys. Geralt hated the way Eskel showed off his skills by knocking the smaller boys down so hard that he usually left them bruised and sore, even though he hadn't meant to, while Eskel couldn't stand the way Geralt trailed after Vesemir practically everywhere the older witcher went.

That changed when they were the last two boys standing after their trials. The found themselves spending most evenings together playing gwent or just sitting in the quiet common room that had since caved in on itself, avoiding their bed chambers and the screams of their friends that often came to them in their sleep.

"What did you do when you felt like you couldn't protect Deidre?" Geralt finally asked. Eskel stiffened at this, but didn't looked phased or perturbed at the mention of his own child surprise.

"To be honest, I never quite felt like I knew what I was doing," Eskel said with a hint of a smile. "She was older than Ciri when I found her but still young enough to need a guiding hand. I always tried to do my best by her, even when she pushed me as far away as she could," Eskel said, looking at the floor and rubbing a hand over the scars on his face.

Geralt remembered the day Deidre had attacked him while they were out on a hunt. It was the first real week of spring and he had been packing up Roach to head back out on the Path when Eskel returned from the forest with torn, bloodied skin hanging from his face and Deidre nowhere to be seen.

"Deidre was on the run from her brother when I found her, as you know. He wanted her dead so he could take the Caingorn throne. I always thought I'd have to keep her safe from him, or at least the monsters that followed us on the Path," Eskel said. He paused for a moment before continuing. "In the end, I needed to save her from herself. She was born during the Black Sun and cursed to live like a wild beast at times because of it."

Geralt remembered the way the girl attacked the training dummies Eskel had set up for her in the courtyard. He had only known her during the one winter he'd spent at the keep while she was in Eskel's care, but it was clear she was a force to be reckon with. He'd seen her hack the dummies heads off in only a few swings, growling each time the blade cut into their wooden bodies.

"I don't think there was anything you could have done," Geralt grunted.

"I know, but I still carried guilt over it for years. Part of me thought that if I had claimed her when she was younger, I could have helped her see the world in a less hostile way. Or, perhaps, helped the world see her a bit more kindly."

Geralt didn't know what to say to that. He had been feeling something similar for months.

"I talked to Vesemir about it not long after she ran off. He said everything happened just as destiny intended it to; that the past is written in stone and the future is a finished book we haven't yet flipped the page on," Eskel said.

"Sounds like something he'd say," Geralt hummed.

"I'm sure it wasn't the first time he'd told me it, though it was the first time I listened," Eskel shrugged. "I realized that I claimed Deidre when destiny intended me to, and I was in her life so she could learn how to properly defend herself against the mages who'd kill her for her curse and the princes who'd do the same to take power. As far as I can tell, destiny didn't plan anything more for us because she doesn't need anything more from me."

Geralt looked down at his still sleeping child surprise. "What does destiny have in mind for us?"

"I'm not sure, only destiny knowns. But I can say this feels different. From what I've seen, Ciri actually likes spending time with you. A rare thing-" Eskel muttered, causing Geralt's pensive stare to turn into a glare. "-but that counts for something. I never really saw that with Deidre," he sighed. "You lucked out."

Geralt let out a quiet hum. He didn't disagree.

Neither he nor Eskel interrupted the silence that followed. It was comforting in a way, having his brother near when he felt so off center; like one wrong move would send him spiraling into panic. He often felt like this when he was a boy, with only Vesemir's gruff words and comforting embraces able to steer him back to safety. But over the years, the list of those who had this rare ability slowly grew longer. First with Eskel and Lambert, then Jaskier and, for a time, Yennefer.

As much as the thought of somehow tainting the girl destiny had entrusted him with sent a jolt of fear through him, Geralt found a part of himself growing more calm as he watched Ciri sleep now that Eskel's words bounced around in his mind.

She was a sweet and at times reserved girl, but still had a spark that Geralt had come to appreciate on their travels. She did what she had to do to survive, yet still managed to smile at Jaskier's antics or one of Geralt's infrequent and almost unnoticeable jokes. The girl was eager to learn new things and often told stories that amused even him. Above all, she didn't look on at him with the fear and mistrust that usually radiated off the children he had saved from monsters or passed in the streets. From the moment she locked eyes with him in the forest, she looked at him for who he was: Geralt.

The only time she didn't was when he'd heard a piercing scream or devilish voices leave her lips.

"What did you do when Deidre needed saving from herself?" Geralt asked. It had taken him several moments to figure out how to phrase his question.

"I tried to show her she wasn't on her own. Most of the time, that's about all I could do."

Geralt nodded. He heard another log crack and thump against the floor of the hearth, making the fire even more dim and the room slightly more chilled. He stood up and walked toward the small pile of wood on the ground. Grabbing the largest log, he placed it onto the flames to keep them from going out.

* * *

Ciri's burning throat was the first thing she felt when she slowly started to wake.

Her eyelids were heavy and her mouth was incredibly dry. She swallowed what little saliva she could form in her mouth as she slowly fluttered her eyes open and stared blearily at the ceiling.

"Ciri?"

A blurry, bulky form was leaning over her before she could try to move her head to find the source of the voice. A head of white hair and eyes so golden that they almost seemed to glow soon came into focus.

"Ger-" she started, but was cut off by a burning string of coughs that scratched against the back of her throat. A strong arm wrapped around her shaking shoulders and propped her up as another hand held a cup of water near her mouth.

"Drink. You'll feel better."

She lifted a heavy hand and grabbed the cup to press it against her lips. The cool water soothed her throat and managed to relieve some of the throbbing against her skull, even if it was only for a moment. After gulping down the drink, she pulled the cup away from her mouth and Geralt took it from her hand. He gently moved her back down so her head was resting against the pillow.

"How do you feel?" he asked after sitting back down in a chair next to the bed. She didn't answer at first, mostly because she was still trying to figure that out for herself.

"Sore," she croaked. "And tired. What time is it?"

Geralt looked over his shoulder at the small window behind him.

"About noon."

Ciri's eyes widened and she started to sit up, ignoring the way her limbs yelled at her to lay back down. "Vesemir's lessons - I'm late."

Geralt leaned forward and placed a hand on her shoulder to still her.

"Don't worry. None of us expect you to sit through a lesson after last night."

Ciri was confused by that at first. She couldn't remember how she had gotten to bed, or why Geralt was waiting beside her when she woke up. Then, when a cold gulp of air made her throat throb with pain again, she suddenly remembered the feeling of a horrible voice force its way out of her mouth. The words that followed made her feel like the water she had just swallowed might come racing back up.

_The world will die amidst frost and be reborn with the new sun._

The rest of the words quickly came flooding back into her mind and panic started to grab at her heart. Her breaths came quicker than before as her anxious gut churned faster with each second.

"Geralt- I, what's happening to me?" she said softly. Tears prickled at the side of her eyes.

"I don't know, but we'll figure it out. Vesemir's been in the library researching since last night."

Ciri shook her head and closed her eyes as a tear trickled down her cheek. She hated the thought of crying in front of the stoic witcher, but the thought of having to continue on like this, like she could be taken over by some sort of incredible power at any time and feel so weak and vulnerable after, just as she had after seeing her life in Cintra burn to ashes in front of her eyes, was too much to bear.

More tears ran down her cheeks as she kept her watery eyelids pressed together. The sound of her sniffling, choked breaths was all she could hear for a few long moments. Then, a large, rough hand wrapped around one of her own and squeezed it just enough that it almost felt like she may have imagined it. She tried to focus on that feeling instead of the weight suffocating her chest. After stifling the sob that threatened to tear through her raw throat, she gave the smallest squeeze back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Another one done! A bit more angst here. Trying my best to not have too much angst that it feels stifling, so let me know if I'm living up to an even-ish balance so far😂 Thank you for you're support, it always makes my day :) Till next time!


	19. The Mother

Ciri hurried down to the courtyard from her room as fast as she could. Her cloak was bundled under her arm and her boots padded against the stone floor with an echo that faintly bounced off the walls around her.

She didn't stop to chat with Vesemir when she passed him near the library, and ignored Lambert when he asked where the fire was (right before he laughed and sent a small burst of igni into the air that definitely didn't make her jump). Today was an important day, after all - perhaps the most important day since she had arrived at Kaer Morhen. She didn't want to be late.

Ciri had wanted to jump out of her chair and let out a whoop when Geralt had told her at dinner last night that today would be her first lesson with a blade. Well, a wooden blade, but that didn't matter. It was one step closer to wielding a steal sword of her own.

Maybe a silver one someday, too.

She resigned herself to sending Geralt a bright smile instead of cheering like one of the farmer boys would whenever they beat her at knucklebones. She might have adjusted to life outside of castle walls since she had fled Cintra, but that didn't mean she had forgotten the table manners her tutors had forced down her throat. That, and she wanted to avoid another disproving look from Vesemir. She hadn't yet forgotten the feeling of her burning cheeks after she had raced through her bowl of hash and knocked over her untouched cup of warm milk all over the older witcher's lap during breakfast last week. She hadn't meant to. She was just eager to get to her first lute lesson with Jaskier.

The air grew colder as she moved down the last hallway toward the keep's grand doors. She thought about wrapping her cloak around her shoulders before she went outside, but she didn't want the long fabric getting in the way of whatever moves Geralt was about to show her.

Standing out in the cold in just her trousers and woolen shirt, along with a slightly-too-big vest Jaskier had found in a trunk while cleaning out one of the store rooms, wasn't the most appealing thought. But Ciri didn't mind. Her last few lessons alternated between sprinting across the pegs of the the smaller pendulum and ducking and tumbling away from Geralt as he taught her hand-to-hand combat. The faint drops of sweat sticking to her brow and under her wool clothes during these lessons had her forgetting just how cold it really was.

That hadn't been the case before she shared the prophecy at dinner nearly two weeks ago, but the chill she hadn't been able to shake had finally left her after spending a day-and-a-half in her bed resting from the ordeal. It gave her a small sliver of hope that her powers wouldn't act up again, or at least not any time soon.

Ciri pushed open the doors and squinted at the bright sun that hit her face. She could make out Geralt standing in the courtyard next to a sort of training dummy and Eskel, who leaned against the door of the barn with his arms crossed over his chest. She felt the corner of her mouth tilt upwards when she saw that the white-haired witcher had one of his hands wrapped around the hilts of two wooden swords.

Ciri quickened her pace and stopped before them only a few moments later. Eskel dipped his head at her when she approached.

"Morning, Ciri," he smiled before looking toward Geralt. "Glad one of your humans can wake before noon. That bard didn't show up to help me in the armory until at least an hour and a half after I'd started going through the old steel yesterday morning."

"He'd sleep all day if you let him," Ciri noted.

"Try waking him when he does," Geralt scoffed. "Worst than fighting a wyvern."

Eskel shook his head with a small smile. "Wish me luck then. I haven't seen him come downstairs yet and we have to finish melting down the last of scrap metal Vesemir got from the village. Can't say he'll be much help from his bed."

"He kicks slower if you approach him from the left," Geralt hummed.

"I'll keep that in mind," Eskel nodded and looked down at Ciri. "Have fun poking this one with a sword. Aim for the head if you can. Bastard owes me for the coin he stole during a game of gwent last night."

"Hmm," Geralt grunted. "Could've sworn I sworn I saw you slip a card out of your sleeve."

Eskel shifted his weight and scoffed. "You're spending too much time with Lambert. Getting us confused in your old age."

"You're the same age as me."

"And you're the one with white hair, Wolf," Eskel chuckled, making Ciri laugh too.

"Just go wake up Jaskier before Vesemir decides to," Geralt glared at the other witcher.

"Fine. Have fun, and don't forget-" Eskel glanced to Ciri. He whispered the next line, even though Geralt would be able to catch every word. "Aim for the head."

She giggled again and Geralt rolled his eyes. The scarred witcher turned toward the keep and walked away. After he was about 10 paces ahead, Geralt looked back down at Ciri and tossed her one of the swords. She nearly dropped it after she'd caught its hilt with her right hand. It was heavier than it looked.

"Ready?"

She nodded and shifted her feet wider apart into the fighting stance Geralt had shown her last week. Her grip on her sword tightened.

"Turn sideface. Makes you a smaller target," he said. "And don't have such a firm hold on your sword. It's an extension of your arm. Not a weight holding it down."

Ciri thought the sword might slip from her hand if she loosened her fingers at all, but she did as he said.

"You always want to be moving during a fight," he continued, taking a few small steps to the side and starting to circle her. She fell in step with him so her back was never exposed; something her grandmother had taught her long ago. He stopped a moment later.

"Mhm," he grunted in approval. "Go in front of the dummy and raise your sword."

She moved forward a few paces and raised the wooden blade.

"Where should should you strike it?" he asked.

 _That's easy_ , Ciri thought. _Grandmother always went straight for the heart_. She'd never seen her grandmother in a real sword fight, but she'd heard the stories of how she tore through battlefields plenty enough.

Ciri pointed the sword forward and stabbed it into the dummy's chest. The dull edge of the fake blade didn't pierce through the wooden figure, but the sound of it slamming into the hard surface was satisfying enough.

"Hmm," Geralt grunted. This time, he didn't sound so approving.

"What? That was the heart. Everyone knows that's the best place to strike," Ciri said, lowering her sword and facing the witcher.

"Only if you're strong enough to pierce through a breast plate and skilled enough not to get gutted first," Geralt said. Ciri raised a brow.

He stepped closer to the dummy and pointed to its torso. "An opponent expects to be attacked here. It's usually the quickest way to get killed."

"How do I take them down then? I can't just skip around them until they get tired enough to walk off."

"You're small. And fast. Use that to your advantage," he moved back closer to her. "Get behind them and strike them where it counts. Most men slow when you cut into their calf-" he tapped the back of her leg with his sword. "- and fall when it's their back."

Ciri looked at him thoughtfully. Something about that just didn't seem right.

"It doesn't feel very... honorable," she said after a moment. "Quite literally stabbing them in the back, I mean."

Geralt's face hardened as he looked at her. "Until you're better than your opponents, you do what you need to do to survive," he turned back to the dummy and nodded toward it. "Again."

Ciri lifted the sword and blew away several strands of hair that had fallen out of her braid. As swiftly as she could, she moved behind the dummy and struck it in the back.

"Don't hack," Geralt said, crossing his arms. "Stab."

They went on like that for the better part of an hour. Her arms were heavy and sweat was sticking to her forehead and armpits by the time Geralt finally told her to stop. And, frustratingly, the dummy didn't seemed to have been affected by her blows at all, save for a few dents she had added to a collection of ones that already littered its sides and back.

"Good. We'll work more tomorrow," he said.

Ciri raised a brow as she wiped some of the sweat off of her face with her sleeve. "We'll? You didn't lift a finger, let alone that sword."

"Hmm," he grunted with a hint of a smile. "You'll miss that when I do."

Ciri rolled her eyes at the witcher, who had turned back around to watch a figure approach them. Lambert had a silver sword strapped to his back and a bag of what looked to be full of viles swinging lightly from his hand as he walked. Potions, she assumed.

"Oi, Geralt," he called out as he got closer. Ciri knew Lambert didn't need to yell for Geralt to hear him. He just liked to. "Vesemir wants us to go take care of a nest of bruggars before dinner. He said he saw one stalking the outer wall yesterday evening and they carried off two of the sheep this morning."

"There are monsters all the way up here?" Ciri asked.

"They're everywhere, girl. Especially here," Lambert said. "The only things that would kill most of them in the mountains are us, and we don't bother lest they come near the keep."

"I'll get my gear. Bring these inside," Geralt said, handing her the swords.

She took the wooden blades and stared down at their scratched, dented ends. The witchers started to walk away, leaving her next to the dummy and an especially tall pile of wood (thanks to the afternoon Geralt spent hacking up tree stumps yesterday afternoon). She felt an uncomfortable feeling creep into her gut at the thought of Geralt leaving, and she whipped her head back up at them.

"How long will you be?"

They both stopped walking and turned back to face her. "We'll be back before supper. Shouldn't take long," Geralt said.

Ciri nodded, sharing something of an appraising glance with Geralt. After a moment, they started toward the keep again and were nearly inside before she cradled the swords to her chest and headed toward the storehouse at the edge of the courtyard.

 _Back before supper,_ she told herself.

* * *

"They're about to move," Lambert murmered.

He and Geralt knelt without moving so much as an inch behind a bush near a cave that housed at least a dozen small bruggars. The putrid smell of their wolf-like and suprisingly slimy bodies filled his nose.

The nest had been farther up the mountain than he had anticipated and was in a desolate area near an especially high ridge. It looked like piles of stones had poured out from what was left of a cave's opening, where he could smell the bones and decay that littered the floor of the bruggars' nest. With the lack of ice and snow covering them, he figured a rock slide had hit the area within the last few days.

Geralt usually didn't pay much mind to young monsters. Most were too small to move over fences or too timid still to go near humans. But by the way he watched four of them viciously claw at each other over the corpse of a messily-killed fawn, it was clear a fence wouldn't stop them. They were starving.

With a child who wasn't much bigger than them back at the keep, he couldn't take the chance of letting them roam free.

"I'll go first," Geralt said in his low voice.

Lambert shook his head as they crept forward. "Greedy fucker."

Geralt hid a small smile from his brother and quietly approached one that was sleeping on a rock as the winter sun beat down on its back. Quietly, he pulled out his sword and stabbed the blade through its skull in an effortless motion. It was as quick as he expected. The (relatively) small body went limp against the stone and only a small puddle of blood began to pool under its head.

What he didn't expect was for the fawn to hit him the back after one of the bruggars had whipped it out of reach of the others it so desperately tried to pry it away from.

The group that had been arguing over the fawn grew still when it bounced off of Geralt and hit the ground. He turned around and stared them down, raising his sword as they started to race toward him.

He cut through the first two easily enough as Lambert moved in to attack a group of three more that had been lounging nearby. One of the larger bruggars tried to nip at Geralt's feet, but his blade pierced through its neck before it had the chance. He was about to cut down the last one when the sound of a much larger beast charging over the small stones under their feet reached his ears.

_That would be the mother._

He cut down the last of that group of bruggars when she lunged at him. He turned around with his sword ready to slice into her slimy body and stepped his foot back to firm up his stance, but the stones suddenly shifted under his weight and sent him and the beast tumbling to the ground as she jumped at him. Her weight landed on his foot as he fell, sending a sharp pain through his ankle.

A second later, he was on his back with the mother's furious form leaning over him. She swiped at his head and one of her long nails on her muddied claws skidded across his forehead. It wasn't a deep cut, but it was deep enough to send blood pouring down his face and into one of his eyes.

Geralt quickly wiped some of it away and sliced into her front two legs before she could swing again. She fell to the ground next to him, her front limbs horribly mangled or detached entirely. He shot up, ignoring the searing pain in his ankle, and was about to deliver the final blow when he heard the sound of two more of her cubs scrambling toward him with menacing growls.

Geralt turned around and cut one down in a single motion, then stabbed into the other's chest just as it reached his side. As their bodies hit the ground, a horrible, desperate screech tore from the mother's throat and shook something deep inside of Geralt's chest.

He whipped back around to find the mother trying to drag herself to the last of her now-dead children. Her either broken limbs or the stumped portions that were left of them flailed madly as she tried to crawl closer to their bodies, ignoring the blood that poured from her wounds. Geralt felt his mouth go dry as her own opened and closed rapidly while she continued to screech, her watery eyes locked on the bodies of her children.

She managed to pull herself next to the smallest of her offspring and reached out to touch it with her only paw left. A sword plunged through her skull just as Geralt swore she was about to stroke its head.

"There," Lambert said, the gushing sound of the blood that spurted from her head filling the air. "That should be all of the fuckers."

Geralt gave a short nod as he kept looking down at the mother. He didn't like the way his heartbeat was slowly climbing into his throat, or how he couldn't peel his eyes away from her. Even now, her mouth was stuck open like her agonizing screams were still ripping out of her throat.

"She really got you," Lambert chuckled.

Geralt tore his gaze from the beast's corpse to look up at his brother. Confusion pulled at the white-haired witcher's brow.

"Your head," Lambert said. "And your ankle, apparently. Looks pretty twisted."

Geralt looked down at his left foot. It certainly stuck out at an unnatural angle, but wasn't the worst he'd dealt with.

"I'm fine," he grunted. He sheathed his sword and took a step forward. Pain shot through his entire leg when he did, making him stumble and let out a grunt so low it sounded more like a growl.

_Fuck._

Lambert was at his side with a hand on his shoulder not a moment later. "Hold on, Wolf. I'll help you."

"Said I'm fine," Geralt muttered and took another step forward. It hurt more than the first step he took, but he tried his best not to show it. He couldn't help the slight limp, though.

"Just shut up and let me help you. You're more prideful than a fucking peacock, you know," Lambert said and grabbed his arm again.

Geralt grunted but didn't push the younger witcher away when he moved under his arm and helped support his weight. He wouldn't admit it, but it did help ease some of the throbbing pain in his ankle as they started to walk back.

"You look as pretty as one, too," Lambert laughed, stopping to tug on a strand of Geralt's long hair. He jerked his head away from the hand and glared at his brother.

"Just keep moving," he growled.

Geralt didn't want to take any longer getting back to Kaer Morhen than they had to. The sun was starting to hang low and he could smell the scent of more monster tracks in the area. Most of them would come out to hunt once it grew dark, and he wasn't keen on fighting anymore monsters with only one good foot.

That, and he'd promised Ciri they would be back by supper.

"Alright, alright. Don't get all growly on me over it," Lambert smirked, moving them around the ruts in the rocky ground as they went. "We'll get back soon enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a bit of a delay in updating! I've been oddly busy for being stuck at home during a pandemic and just couldn't motivate myself to write a sword training session (I have no idea how to teach someone to swordfight). Hope you enjoyed! This was originally going to be a much longer chapter with a lot more happening, but I felt like I should cut my little plot bunny into two parts. I already have some of the next chapter written and all of it outlined, so expect a quicker update (hopefully) next weekend! Thanks for your support and reading this story! It really means a lot :)


	20. The Scare

Ciri held her arms out straight as she walked across the top of the stone wall that circled the armory.

The small hut that held the witchers' old gear and tools, along with a great kiln, sat at the edge of a forest that trailed down the side of the mountain. The tall pines that towered over the snowy ground seemed like they could almost touch the clouds at times, especially when a gray sky threatened to send even more snow down over the slopes and rocky earth.

Ciri spun her practice sword as she walked across the wall. It wasn't a terribly high fall, nor was it terribly hard to keep her balance after weeks of training on the pendulum. But Jaskier had called out from inside of the armory for her to be careful at least three times since she had climbed the wall out of boredom about 20 minutes ago.

She moved away from the window after the last time he'd come out with sweat on his brow and a handful of dirty rags he was using to clean the armor Eskel had deemed worthy of salvaging. If he couldn't see her, maybe he wouldn't think about it as much.

Hearing the first faint whoo-ing of owls reach her ears as dusk quickly faded into darkness, Ciri turned away from the hut and sat down on top of the wall. She lightly swung her legs as she stared out into the forest with her sword resting across her lap.

There was something almost alluring about the darkness that poked out from in between the trees. She couldn't draw her eyes away from the faint way the nearly hidden sun glimmered against the blankets of snow, and the cold winds that rushed through the ancient branches of the trees were a song against her ears.

She found herself longing to chase that song more and more with each passing day; to uncover the frozen brooks and enormous caves that Geralt had told her about for herself.

Ciri enjoyed spending time in the keep. The books in the library were about far more interesting topics than the dreary ones she had been forced to read on war and politics in Cintra, and Jaskier's songs were the best she'd ever heard. But something inside of her tugged toward the forest each time she looked out at the side of the mountain.

"Fuck!"

Ciri whipped her head toward the hut when she heard something clanging against the ground, and Jaskier continue to swear. She hopped down and hurried toward the small building, leaning her sword against the wall next to the door frame as she passed through it.

A pool of molten metal had poured out of a cauldron that had tumbled onto its side, trapping Jaskier in the corner of the room. Eskel rushed over with a shovel that had been hanging on a wall. The witcher was scooping up as much of the fiery looking liquid as he could into another cauldron he had quickly placed onto the floor.

"Don't move!" he called out.

"Wasn't planning on it- Melitele's tits that's hot! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jaskier said as he leaned into the wall.

"Use the table!" Ciri called out, pointing to the surface next to Jaskier. The bard quickly looked between her and the furniture and pulled himself onto the top of it just as the moulton steel was about to reach his feet. "What happened?" she asked.

"I dropped a very heavy, very hot pot by mistake," the bard said through deep breaths. "Didn't realize it would be so-"

"Heavy and hot?" she offered.

"Precisely," Jaskier said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Need help over there?"

Eskel shook his head as he scooped the metal back into the pot with neck-breaking speed.

"It's fine. Just pick up the rack of swords you knocked over at the same time," Eskel said, though he didn't sound annoyed. Lambert would no doubt be swearing a storm at the bard right now, while Geralt would have at least glared at him. As would Vesemir. But Eskel's tone was even and his expression unaffected by the simmering hole that burned through the wooden floor.

"That doesn't look good," she said, stepping closer as Eskel scraped up the last of the metal that hadn't already hardened. The hole in the wooden planks spanned about five paces and revealed a dirt floor that was under the hut's foundation.

"We can lay down some new boards in the morning. I expect the others will be back soon and Vesemir will have supper ready within the hour," Eskel said. He placed the pot back over the fire in the hearth and turned toward Jaskier.

Ciri's eyes ran along a mold used to form new swords as it lay across one of the tables near the hearth. A small pile of already forged steel rested beside it. She walked over to the table and carefully stroked a still warm blade that had mostly cooled inside of the mold.

"One day with a training sword and you're already drooling over a real weapon?" Eskel said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Ciri touched the hilt of the blade. Dark trees winded along the gray metal and created an intricate forest that was in full bloom. A pack of wolves stared up at her through the trails that moved along the steel forest floor.

"Just admiring your work - the craftsmanship is exquisite. I didn't know witchers were such good smiths."

Eskel laughed at that. "We're not. You'll find that most of us aren't very creative beyond figuring out new ways to kill monsters."

"Geralt: point in case," Jaskier added as he picked up a pile of weapons from the ground.

Ciri turned toward the witcher, who moved next to her and grabbed one of the blades. She noticed they all had the same design on their hilt.

"A blacksmith gifted a Wolf witcher a sword like this and the mold it was made from as a thank you gift for saving his family from a kikimore centuries ago. We've used it to make new ones ever since."

"I used to try to watch the castle smiths work in Cintra, but someone would shoo me away before I could get close enough. Is it hard making them?"

Eskel shook his head. "Not really, if you have the right forge and tools. Would you like to help?"

Ciri's eyes lit up and she shook her head yes. Eskel smiled and moved over to the pot of molten steel again.

"Don't burn yourself, love," Jaskier said as a he set out to polish some armor that had been piled in the corner.

Ciri rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I'm not going to end up like the floor."

"Ha ha, very funny. Just remember that Geralt won't be happy if he finds you covered in salve and bandages when he gets back."

They both watched Eskel walk over to the forge with a smaller pot of the steel. Ciri moved beside him and stared on as he started pouring it into the mold.

"Once the metal turns yellow, we can take it out and hammer it to make it even more sharp," he said. Ciri nodded. She felt the space around her grow increasingly warm as the scorching liquid slid out of the pot. Ciri shrugged out of her vest, having already left her cloak on a hook near the door, and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

"We can shape this one tomorrow after it finishes cooling. I have one from yesterday that should be ready now," he continued and moved to grab a set of prongs. He held onto each handle and used it to pluck the blade from its cast, placing it carefully onto two blocks. He picked up a hammer and banged it against the tip.

"This will help make the end sharp enough to actually cut through things," he continued. "It may look good enough now, but it needs to be more thin to really do damage. Hit it too hard or too much at this stage and the steel will become brittle and break easier, either while it's still cooling or with time. "

Ciri watched as he evened out the bends in the metal and made it even more pointed than before. After a minute or so, he handed her the hammer. She copied his movements as best as he could. He didn't move in to correct her, so she assumed she was doing it right.

Jaskier walked over and stood beside Ciri to watch her as she worked.

"Not bad. Though can't say I've ever tried to make a weapon that wasn't an offensive sentence or two," Jaskier said. He picked up a finished sword and stared at its shiny metal. "If I made one of these it would probably look lumpy, or something of the sort."

"It's not especially hard. Lambert can make a decent enough blade, though Geralt was never much good at it."

"Huh, a witchery skill he hasn't a mastered," Jaskier chuckled. "A first."

"Not a witcher skill, actually. Only a handful of us are really taught to make weapons, even if we're all taught how to care for and repair them," Eskel said. He nudged Ciri's hand to the side so she'd start hitting a different section of the metal. "My uncle was a blacksmith. He taught me most of what I know."

Jaskier paused and looked up at the scarred witcher. "I thought witchers were separated from their families as children."

Ciri felt her own movements slow at that.

"We were. In the hills, boys learned a trade as soon as they could hold a hammer without dropping it. You can bring more goods to market that way. My family was killed by a wyvern when I was nine or so. The witcher who killed the beast took me as payment for the contract."

Jaskier frowned. "That's rough," he said. Ciri agreed.

"No child ever arrives at Kaer Morhen because of a good reason," Eskel sighed. Ciri grew still beside him. He cleared his throat and spoke up again when he noticed how she had stopped hammering the blade. "But that doesn't mean they couldn't find a way to make it a home. Boys always had dinner at Kaer Morhen. Couldn't say the same at my family's hut."

Ciri looked down at the hot steal, not quite sure what to say to that. Even though her parents died so long ago that it was hard to even picture their faces anymore, she always had a loving and plentiful home with her grandparents in the castle.

"You said in the hills. Where are you from exactly?" she finally asked.

"The Blue Mountains. I'm sure you wouldn't know where exactly even if I told you. Very few do."

"I only learned that they were in the north. Who was your lord?"

Eskel laughed at that. "The closest thing the hills people had to a lord was Old Man Gren. I don't remember much about those days, but I'll never forget the way his beard nearly touched the ground. I still haven't seen a beard like it since."

Ciri gave a curt smile as she kept hitting the blade. It faded quickly. "I guess I didn't learn much about places that weren't ruled by nobility. I don't think Grandmother found most of them... important," she admitted. Ciri hadn't realized how big the world truly was until after she had fled Cintra. Or complicated. The thought of Dara's glare when they had spoken about her grandmother still made her gut churn with unease.

"What did you learn about in Cintra?" Eskel asked. Anyone else may have sounded like they were about to ridicule for her royal upbringing. But the witcher sounded genuinely interested.

"Mostly how to rule a kingdom, which is really just rules for how not to offend your allies, which Grandmother never really followed anyway," she shrugged. "You'd be surprised by how many different ways there are to offend a Temerian. King Darek started a war with Cintra once because my great-great grandfather turned down desert at a feast."

"Was that the king who used to burn jesters and bards at the stake if he didn't like them?" Jaskier asked with a frown.

Ciri nodded. "He was called King Darek the Mad for a reason."

"Gods," he shuddered. "Don't get any ideas."

Eskel grabbed the hilt of the sword and Ciri stopped striking the warm metal. He flipped it over and pointed at an imperfection near the bottom of the blade, which she started pounding with the hammer.

"Of course not," she smiled. The room was silent for a while longer before Eskel spoke again.

"This is looking good," he smiled. "I saw you practicing with Geralt earlier. When you finish learning the basics, I'd be happy to show you a few moves I've picked up from different places while on the Path over the years."

Ciri nodded eagerly. She wanted to learn as much as she could from anyone who would teach her; the witchers that Geralt called his family especially.

"I'd like that," she grinned.

* * *

Ciri brought the last scoop of squash that had been on her plate to her mouth. She had tried a few pieces of beef, though as dinner dragged on and Geralt and Lambert still hadn't arrived back to the keep, she felt less hungry with each moment that passed.

Geralt said they would be back by supper. It hadn't been that long since she, Jaskier, Eskel and Vesemir had sat down to start the meal the oldest witcher had prepared. In fact, he would probably enter through the doors, unharmed and unbothered per usual, any minute now.

But she couldn't quite push down the worry that edged its way up her throat from the pit of her stomach. Geralt didn't seem like a man who would break his word unless there was good reason to.

"How did training go earlier?" Vesemir asked her from across the table.

Ciri forced the squash to slide down her tightening throat before she answered. "Good. I didn't realize how heavy those wooden swords are," she said, fighting the urge to role her aching shoulders. She had no doubt they would be even more sore in the morning.

"Most don't. We made them that way to help build strength," he said and shoveled a large fork full of meat into his mouth. His plate was nearly clear after. "I expect you'll be even more surprised when you lift a real sword."

"My arms felt like they were on fire for weeks after my first lessons as a boy," Jaskier added, downing the last of his ale.

"You were taught to swing a blade?" Eskel asked.

The bard nodded. "My father thought the best way to discourage my taking to music was to pluke the lute from my hands and replace it with a sword. I think it's quite clear how miserably that failed."

"Hmm," Vesemir grunted. Ciri thought he sounded just like Geralt. A cluster of nerves fluttered in her chest again.

"The problem wasn't me, necessarily. My father decided to hire a tutor whose daughter still remains one of the most gorgeous creatures I've ever seen. Who could expect me to focus when she wore-"

The faint sound of the keep's front door opening and slamming shut reached Ciri's ears. Vesemir pushed back his chair and stood rather suddenly, causing the bard's sentence to peter off. The old witcher didn't seem alarmed, necessarily. But the way he stared at the door to the great hall didn't do anything to ease the nerves Ciri was still trying her best to ignore. Eskel scooted back and turned around in his seat.

"They're back," he said.

Vesemir's nostrils widened. "The Wolf's hurt," the graying witcher grunted. Ciri felt her heart drop into her stomach and her breath catch in her throat all at once.

Vesemir and Eskel moved away from the table and disappeared into the hallway, with Jaskier standing to join them. Ciri felt glued to her seat. It took her both longer and in less time than she would have thought to pry herself from the chair and follow the others.

She walked behind Jaskier and the witchers on shaky legs through the threshold and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what was at the end of the hallway.

Ciri's eyes trailed over Geralt as he stumbled against Lambert's side. His ankle looked severely out of place and a mix of dirt and dark blood covered the front of his armor. She stopped breathing completely when her eyes landed on the caked pool of blood trailing just below a gash on his forehead. Her body went numb when, in a moment that fled as quickly as it came, the bloodied face of her dying grandmother flashed over his.

"What happened?" Vesemir said as he neared them.

"Tripped. The mother landed on my ankle," Geralt grunted.

"That's a lot of blood for a broken ankle," Eskel chuckled, earning a glare from Geralt. The blood covering half his face and the way his loose strands of windswept hair stuck up toward the ceiling made him look even more menacing than usual.

"Fuck off," he mumbled, though he didn't try to push his brother away when he went to support him on his other side.

"Did you finish off the nest?" Vesemir asked. Geralt looked down toward the floor as he gave a short nod.

"There must have been a dozen at least, not including the mother. Fuckers were hungry," Lambert added.

"Apparently," Vesemir crossed his arms. "Come on, help him upstairs so I can see to that ankle."

"I'm fine. Don't need help."

"Horseshite," Lambert said. "You could barely stand, let alone walk when you tried to pull that shit back in the forest."

Geralt went to argue but Vesemir cut him off.

"Quiet. Let them get you upstairs," Vesemir said. His tone left little room for argument.

Geralt sighed and let his brothers lead him down the hall. Ciri kept her eyes glued to him the entire time. If she didn't, she feared he would disappear.

Or worse.

She could hear a soft grunt of pain or two leave his lips when he passed by where she stood. He looked over at her for the first time since he entered the keep. His brows furrowed in concern (or pain, she couldn't quite tell) as he passed her, but he didn't say anything other than "fuck" when Lambert jostled him too hard.

"You're fine, Wolf," the younger witcher replied as they moved toward the stairs. Ciri continued to watch them, doing her best to control the deep breaths pushing through her throat while they made their way up each step. She jumped slightly when a hand touched her shoulder.

"Darling, you look like you've seen a ghost. Are you alright?"

Ciri took another deep breath before she glanced up at Jaskier's worried face. She didn't quite know how to explain what she felt, so she settled on a quick nod instead of trying to form a sentence.

Jaskier wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. "Why don't we go sit in the library for a little bit then? You must be exhausted from training earlier and I have a new song that needs an audience's approval."

"What about the dishes?" she asked, speaking for the first time.

"We can clean it up later. Vesemir will be busy helping Geralt for a little while anyway, and I doubt Eskel or Lambert will care if the beef gets cold."

Ciri nodded and let Jaskier guide her into the library that sat at the other end of the hallway. She stayed close to his side long after they sat down to look over a new ballad he had written in the pages of a small, worn looking leather journal.

* * *

"The duchess was exquisite. Never before had I met a woman who was as great a conversationalist as she was in bed. Though the duke might have been even better, now that I think of it-"

"Duke?"

"-yes duke, keep up," Jaskier said through an annoyed sigh. "He was a rather portly fellow, but what he could do with his legs, my god-"

Geralt hid a smirk when Lambert's eyebrows shot up in a surprised but not unkind way. He and the bard had been swapping stories in the kitchen since the younger witcher had wondered in not a half hour ago. Each one was grittier than the last.

"I planned to stay a few more days with the lovely couple, but this one decided to leave town early without telling me," Jaskier gestured to Geralt. "It took me nearly two weeks to track him down."

"Mmm," Geralt grunted. He didn't look up at Jaskier, nor was he especially interested in their conversation. Most of the stories they shared were ones he had either lived through or heard more times than he could recall. "The alderman told me to leave once the contract was over."

"You could have come to get me first!"

Geralt raised a brow. "Dukes and duchesses don't usually like witchers in their keeps."

"Then you could have at least asked the servants to fetch me," Jaskier said, pointing the knife he was using to peel a carrot with at Geralt.

"I did. They said they'd never seen a bard in a garish yellow doublet."

Jaskier paused at that. "Hm. Actually, that's probably right. I think I snuck in. But that's beside the point, Geralt. You could have stayed - wait, garish?"

Lambert barked out a laugh. Even Geralt couldn't hide a smirk.

"Joke's on you - the duke thought it was lovely. How else do you think I got their attention at a packed feast? Peacocks need to be in full bloom to attract a mate, you know," Jaskier smirked. "And mate we did."

Lambert scrubbed a hand over his face. "For fuck's sake..."

"I suppose it all worked out in the end, though. Gerat had a broken thumb from fighting a cockatrice when I found him next. I consider that fair enough revenge," Jaskier said. "Speaking of your never ending list of injuries, how's that ankle this morning? It looked pretty rough when you came back last night."

"Fine," Geralt answered.

The break had been clean and was on track to fully heal by the end of the week, along with the gash on his head. Vesemir always said that head wounds usually looked worse than they really were, and for the most part that was true. Especially for witchers: monsters (or men) had to claw extremely deep into their flesh for any new scars to appear. Geralt doubted this scratch would join the many marks that already covered his body.

Vesemir also always said that every man had to pull his own weight at Kaer Morhen, even if Geralt couldn't carry his own very well at the moment. Hobbling downstairs this morning had been a bitch. But if he was well enough to be out of bed, he was well enough to do some kind of chores, in the older witcher's eyes. That had always been the rule. Thus, Geralt found himself stuck helping peel vegetables with Jaskier as Lambert gnawed away at an apple from the doorway.

Geralt looked up from the vegetable in his hand when he heard the sound of small feet coming toward the kitchen. Ciri pushed past Lambert in the doorway not long after.

"Good morning!" Jaskier grinned as Geralt nodded at her. She gave them both a small smile that looked rather forced. Geralt noticed dark circles under her eyes that hadn't been there the day before.

"Any big plans for the day, Princess?" the bard asked, even though they could likely all guess her schedule. It hadn't changed much since they had first arrived at the keep for the winter, if at all.

"I have a lesson with Vesemir in a few minutes. Is there any bread from yesterday left?"

Jaskier pointed across the room. "Next to the cupboard."

She walked over to where he pointed to, shuffling her feet louder than usual as she went. Geralt watched her rip off a relatively small hunk from the heel. She must have yawned three times before she finished scraping it with jam.

"I should be off. Vesemir will pitch another fit if we run out of milk again," Lambert grumbled. "Don't see why he can't just milk the cows. Closest thing he's gotten to teets in decades.

Jaskier pursed his lips and cleared his throat. "Children, Lambert," he whispered. The witcher simply laughed before ducking out of the doorway. He missed the glare Geralt sent at the back of his head as he did.

Ciri turned back to them with the bread in one hand and an apple in the other. She didn't say anything as she left the room.

"She seems... off," Geralt said after he was sure she was too far away to hear them. "Did something happen while I was gone yesterday?"

"I don't think so," Jaskier said as he put down a long carrot he had just finished peeling.

Geralt didn't speak again for another minute or two. Then, as he was halfway done with a particularly stubborn yam, he felt his chest start to tighten as a new thought entered his mind.

"Are her powers acting up again?"

"Not that I know of," Jaskier said indifferently and picked up a potato. He ran the knife in his hand along its side in fluid motions to slice off its skin.

Geralt felt a bit better at that. Though he was quickly running out of ideas. Maybe it had something to do with Lambert teasing her about falling off the pendulum two days before? Her face had turned redder than he'd ever seen, and she would only glare at Lambert whenever he tried to talk to (or keep teasing) her for the rest of the night.

"What about-"

"For fuck's sake, Geralt," Jaskier huffed and turned to face him fully. "Just ask her yourself."

The witcher stared at him before nodding.

"Hmm," he grunted in agreement. Both men looked back down at the vegetables and focused on peeling off their tough skin, Jaskier a bit more gracefully than Geralt.

The witcher put a potato on top of a several others that had already been freed of their skin. He reached for another but paused when Jaskier set his knife and his own half-peeled potato on the table.

"She seemed upset after you came in looking like hell last night," the bard sighed. "I brought her into the library after and tried to get her talk, but she wouldn't say much. Anything, really."

Geralt nodded. He had noticed how pale and frightened she'd looked when they came in, but he hadn't thought much of it. It was the usual reaction children gave him when he arrived back at their village covered in blood and guts to collect his pay after a contract.

"I'll talk to her after her lesson with Vesemir," he grunted after a moment.

"Good," Jaskier said. Geralt noticed the bard's lips curl into a teasing smile. "As a father should."

The witcher froze, save for his head snapping up to stare at the bard. Geralt didn't know what to say to that. Duny was Ciri's father, not him, even if he supposed he was the closest thing she had to one now. Fuck if he knew.

"Peel the fucking potato, Jaskier."

Geralt ignored the bright laughter that rang through the kitchen.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find Ciri later that afternoon. If the girl wasn't studying with Vesemir in his office, training with Geralt out in the courtyard, or helping out with Vesemir's endless list of chores, she was almost always tucked up reading a book on the couch closest to the large hearth in the library.

Geralt took a deep breath when he pushed the door open and walked into the room. Ciri was in her usual spot on the couch, though instead of scanning over the pages of a book in her lap that was about one creature or another, like he usually found her, her hands were busy pulling at a string on her vest as she stared absently at the fire in front of her. She looked up as he walked closer to her.

"How was your lesson?" he asked.

She shrugged and turned her neck so she was staring at the fire again. "Fine."

Geralt waited for her to tell him more about the beasts or potions Vesemir had showed her, as she usually did after each lesson. She stayed silent instead; the glow of the flames bouncing off of her pale skin and illuminating a worried line that creased across her forehead.

"What did you study today?" he tried again. Ciri didn't look up when she answered.

"Swamp monsters."

He nodded. The room grew quiet once more and a growing sense of discomfort crawled over his skin as he stood in front of her in silence.

"I - fuck," Geralt eventually grumbled, causing Ciri to look up at him with furrowed brows. "I'm not good at this."

"At what?"

Geralt had to think for a moment. "Talking."

Ciri shrugged. "That's alright. I was hoping to just rest, anyway."

She looked down at the string still twirling slowly between her fingers. Like earlier, she looked utterly exhausted. Feeling unusually ansty on his feet, and pain jolting in his ankle, Geralt sat down on the middle cushion of the same worn leather couch as Ciri. He was grateful when a question finally tugged at his mind.

"How did you sleep?"

"I didn't," she paused, looking at him again.

He raised a brow at her.

"It's silly."

"I'm sure it's not."

Ciri went from twisting the string to trying to yank it out of the fabric altogether as her lips pressed tightly against each other. Geralt noticed her breaths grow heavier, too.

"When I started to fall asleep, I saw Cintra burning again. And Grandmother, when she got back from the battle," she started, sitting up a bit. "If I tried to fall asleep again after, I felt like I couldn't breathe. Like I was going to die if I closed my eyes."

Geralt didn't quite know what to say to that, but the way her voice sounded so small at the end of her thought made his heart clench.

"How long has that been happening?" he asked.

"It was just last night. But I'm afraid it's going to happen again."

Geralt nodded. They sat in silence again after, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. Though by the look on Ciri's face, he felt like he could almost hear a hundred thoughts that were too mumbled to make out bouncing around her in her mind. Instead of trying to force one out, he waited.

"What does it take to kill a witcher?" she finally asked, the words making something in his mind click into place.

_No wonder she was scared the night before._

"Much more than what kills a human," he answered.

"How much more?"

Unease rolled off of her as she looked up at him with tired, watery eyes. Geralt placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to provide some sort of comfort. He wasn't expecting her to lean forward and rest her side against his own, though he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer once she did.

"Enough that you're stuck with us for a while."

Neither of them stirred for several minutes as Geralt felt Ciri slowly relax in his arms, along with a part of himself that he hadn't realized was so tense.

The sound of her voice eventually vibrated against his side. "We should go train soon. Vesemir wants me to read another chapter on drowners tonight."

"Mmm. We could train here instead," he suggested. She sat up and sent him a confused stare.

"I don't think Vesemir would like us hacking at his books instead of a dummy."

Geralt let out a short laugh at that. "Not with swords," he said. "Have you ever tried meditation?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how to make a sword so anything in there is from just a quick, poorly done google search. Hope you all enjoyed! This is the second longest chapter and I wrote it (almost) within a week of the last? Crazy. Also crazy that this is 20 chapters long? It started out as a one shot or two that I was writing out of sheer lockdown boredom and now it's helio monster with a lot more to come. Again, crazy. Thanks for your support! Love hearing from you all :)


	21. The Forest

"Strike lower!"

Ciri swung her sword at Geralt's gut, which he easily blocked with his own wooden blade. She tried stabbing into his calf to no avail, then aimed for his thigh, which he blocked again. On and on it went. Like every other lesson since Geralt had first let her practice on him instead of the dummy about a week ago, it was impossible to get any sort of blow in against the witcher.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lambert look up from the blade he was sharpening with a whetstone and shake his head.

"Move faster, Ciri!" he barked. "I've seen old women strike their husbands quicker than how you move with a sword."

Ciri gritted her teeth and spun around Geralt so she could smack his back with the blade. His sword crashed against hers before she even had a chance to really swing it. She sidestepped around him again and aimed for his side, his leg - anywhere really. He deflected her blows each time in a way that almost felt routine. After this went on for far longer than she'd like, Ciri huffed and lowered the sword to her side.

"Are you ever going to let me get a hit in?" she said before blowing away loose strands of hair that had escaped from her braid.

"Would a real opponent?" Geralt grunted.

She rolled her eyes. "No."

Lambert got up from his spot on a bench not far from where they stood and walked over to them. "If you didn't spend so much time focusing on where you're not striking him, you might actually be able to see where you have an opening," he said.

Ciri felt a bubble of frustration rise in her chest but didn't respond. She knew it would likely be years before she became as good as Geralt and the other witchers. She just wish time would speed up a bit.

"We'll stop there for the day," Geralt said, turning his back to her so he could face his brother. "What did Vesemir want us to do?"

Lambert started to say something about an outer wall on the other side of the keep that needed repairing. Ciri ignored him and picked up her cloak from the spot on the ground where she had unceremoniously dropped it earlier. She leaned the sword against her leg as she pulled it on and looked up at Geralt and Lambert as they spoke.

Geralt still had his back to her and didn't move at all when she took several small steps forward. An idea suddenly slipped into her mind. Slowly, she raised her sword, then quickly charged forward and leapt into the air with her blade posed to swing down and whack Geralt's shoulder.

It looked like the blade was going to hit him - like she was finally going to have one over the witcher. He just had to ruin the moment by turning around in time to catch her mid-air and sling her over his shoulder.

"Damn it, Geralt!" she yelled, squirming under his grip. A short string of faint laughs from Geralt mixed in with Lambert's loud cackles rang through the courtyard.

"You thought you could sneak up on a witcher? Are you mental?" Lambert said through a few more laughs, crossing his arms as he did so.

"I took an opening just like you said to," she huffed. She tried to send Lambert the meanest glare she could, but dangling over Geralt's shoulder like a dead deer made it harder for her look as menacing as she'd like.

"Mhmm," Geralt hummed. "Should've looked for one a little lower like I said."

"I'm sure that still wouldn't have worked," she sighed, staring at the dirt by Geralt's feet.

"Probably not," Geralt said. He leaned down and set Ciri back onto the ground. She must have looked as dejected as she felt, since he rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "But it might one day."

She sent him a small smile.

"For fuck's sake. If Vesemir coddled us like this, we'd all be mush," Lambert shook his head. "Dead mush."

"You'd be less crotchety, at least," Ciri deadpanned. Geralt let out another laugh and Lambert reached out to swat her head. She ducked out of his reach before he could.

"Little shit. Go do your chores before I make Vesemir assign you more reading," Lambert grumbled.

"You? Make Vesemir do something?" Geralt raised a brow. "Not possible."

"Fuck off. I- ugh, just come help me fix that wall before anymore of it falls apart," Lambert said. Geralt handed Ciri his wooden sword before he turned to follow the other witcher.

"Have fun with that," she said as he started to walk away.

"Hmm. See you at dinner."

Ciri shifted the two swords under her arm and walked toward the small shed they kept them in at the other side of the courtyard. After she'd left them in their usual spot beside an old rickety table, she shut the creaky door and headed toward the stables.

The smell of fresh hay (and fresh dung) reached her nose even before she entered the aging barn. A comforting wave of warmth ran over her body once she was inside. Several cows were munching on hay or resting against the wall of their stall when Ciri passed by them. She'd milk them in a bit, after she changed out their water and cleaned their stalls as best as she could. Thankfully, Jaskier had scooped out most of their dung the day before.

Roach approached the door of her stall when Ciri passed by. Ciri moved forward and grinned when Roach leaned into her touch once she started stroking her snout, then nudged her head against Ciri's cheek.

"Nice to see you too, girl," Ciri laughed. Roach gave a small snort and swung her head toward a bag that hung from a hook on the wall across from her.

Ciri rolled her eyes with a smile and moved over to it. She pulled out two sugar cubes, which Geralt always kept well stocked, and brought it back over to the mare. Roach's tongue tickled her hand as she scooped up the treat. Ciri gave her snout one more fond stroke before she moved over toward the pigs. She unlatched their door and stepped back as the four of them slowly waddled out one by one.

She followed them to the large door that stood at the other side of the barn. Ciri pushed it open and watched as the pigs wandered out into a paddock that extended beyond the large walls that stood around Kaer Morhen.

Most of it was filled with a light layer of snow, and there wasn't much grass left on the parts of the ground that were uncovered. There wasn't much for the pigs to do except stand on the few frozen-over puddles of mud, but Geralt had said it was important for the animals to get as much fresh air as they could. Seeing that today was slightly warmer than most and not a cloud floated in the sky, she figured now was as good a chance as any to get the pigs outside.

By the way a fresh litter of hoof tracks trailed around the edge of the paddock, it looked like Geralt had already let the horses out that morning.

Ciri stepped around the sluggish pigs and walked over to the dark stone wall that wrapped around the paddock. The sun was still high in the sky and it glimmered over the snowy clearing that spanned between the paddock and the tall pines that lined the edge of the forest.

She stopped and rested her arms on top of the wall. The breeze was cold but refreshing as it brushed over her cheeks. She let it slowly fill her lungs and send a frigid but exhilarating chill down her spine. Letting out a contented sigh, Ciri leaned her head on top of her arms and looked out at the forest. The wind sighed softly around her and rustled against the branches of the trees. She almost thought it sounded like a whisper rolling through the air.

The longer Ciri looked out at the forest and let the wind flow over her, the more she longed to explore the mountainside before her. She knew it was a silly idea. Geralt would be far from pleased if he found out she'd left the keep without him. But the whispering breeze was quickly becoming a soothing voice that captured her entire attention, even if she couldn't make out what exactly it was saying.

She looked away from the trees and back at Kaer Morhen. Geralt and Lambert were helping Eskel fix a wall on the opposite side of the keep, and would be busy adding new stones along the structure for the next several hours at least. Jaskier was on laundry duty today and Vesemir was busy brewing potions before her lesson. No one ever checked on her when she was in the barn, unless they were doing work there too, and as long as she was in the oldest witcher's study in two hours and her chores were done, no one would ever know where she had gone.

Ciri pushed herself onto the top of the wall and dropped herself over the other side. The snow came up to her knees here and she wouldn't be surprised if it got even deeper as she trekked closer to the forest. She looked around and smiled when she saw two trails of deep footprints still perfectly etched in the snow from when Eskel and Lambert went hunting several days ago, untouched from the clear weather they had had since.

She stepped into the deep holes they'd made in the snow and continued down the path, the whispering of the wind still dancing in her ears. Small patches of snow twinkled under the sunlight that peaked through the tightly packed forest as she passed them, and she savored each breath of sweet pine that filled her nose as she inhaled the air.

The faint but ever-present scent of the trees was the one thing that seemed to calm her, even if only a small part of her, when she had been wandering through countless woods after the fall of Cintra. The pine in the air reminded her of the forest around Cintra where she and her grandparents would go riding nearly every weekend Grandmother could spare, which was also the same forest where she faintly remembered picnicking with her mother; one of the last tangible memories she had of her.

Birds would occasionally flutter through the trees as Ciri wandered deeper into the forest. She spotted a few animal prints near the trail left by Eskel and Lambert's boots. She wondered what had left them exactly. Vesemir had said they wouldn't get to tracking animals and beasts for a while longer, and she had never learned about such things in Cintra.

Ciri continued through the forest, going downhill the entire way. Each time she thought she might turn back toward the keep, the whispers that flowed over the wind pulled her in again and she kept walking forward. The streams of sun that peaked through the trees were slightly more golden by the time she finally stopped at the edge of long stream that had frozen over. Only the tops of several stones pointed through ice, and a steep cliff stood not far from the other side of it. She couldn't tell how far the drop was or where it landed.

Seeing that she couldn't go any further and the afternoon sun was settling in, Ciri turned to head back to the keep to quickly finish her chores. Maybe even leave cleaning the stalls until tomorrow, if she hoped to get to her lesson on time.

Ciri hadn't even taken one step back in the direction of the way she had came when a low, angry growl made the hair on the back of her neck stand up straight.

A wolf with piercing yellow eyes and an angry snarl crept toward her, blocking her path back up the mountain. Ciri felt panic pulling at her chest. She was totally unarmed and, even worse, alone.

"Fuck," she muttered.

She stepped back as the wolf moved in closer, though still slowly. Ciri noticed how it limped slightly when it put any weight on its front right leg, which had a nasty, bloody wound streaked across it. She hoped that would give her some sort of an advantage. But by the way its ribs poked out and several small lines of foamy drool pooled out of the corner of its mouth, she wasn't quite sure anything could beat away the hunger this wolf clearly felt.

Ciri continued to back up slowly until she felt her foot land on the smooth, snow-crusted ice that ran over the stream. At that same moment, the wolf finally decided to try to close the space between them and lunged.

Ciri turned and ran several steps before leaping onto one of the stones that peaked out of the ice. She sprinted from one stone to the next as quickly as she could; as if each one was just another peg on the pendulum.

The wolf snapped at the edge of Ciri's cloak but missed when it started to slip on the ice. She didn't dare look back at the beast as she kept moving. Seeing that it hadn't manage to catch her yet, she figured the wound on its leg must really be slowing it down.

Ciri hopped off of the last stone and landed on the other side of the stream. The snow was deep there still, though not as deep as it had been in other spots, and she pumped her legs as quickly as she could get away from the wolf. She heard the wolf land in the snow with a thud and kick up the powder as it tried to push through it to get to her.

Her eyes darted around for something - anything - that she could use as a weapon. A few trees had toppled over near the ledge, and she spotted a thick branch that was about the same size as her practice sword laying on the ground next to a rotted trunk.

The wolf was only a few paces behind Ciri at this point. Its snarling breaths and deep growls sent bursts of fear pounding in her chest. Just as its yellow teeth latched onto the bottom of her cloak, she lurched forward and grabbed the branch. With the hardest swing she could muster, Ciri flung around and whacked the wood against the wolf's head.

It fell against the ground with an whimper but didn't stay down long. After a simple shake of its head, its angry eyes landed on Ciri's wide ones once again. It crept toward her, cornering her against the ledge she still hadn't dared look down.

The wolf pounced forward and Ciri plunged the branch straight in front of her, as if she was stabbing the dummy in the courtyard back at the keep. The dull tip didn't pierce into the wolf's torso as she would have liked, but it did send the beast crashing away from her. Ciri took a step back to prepare for another advance, but before the wolf could charge at her again, the earth crumbled under her feet and sent her falling down the side of the snow covered cliff.

Ciri's back was the first part of her body to hit the ground with a painful thud. She folded into herself and kept her arms over her head as she rolled. A jagged rock tore into her side and she felt several discarded twigs and branches, among other debris that had been kicked down from the mountain, cut into her arms and legs.

She must have rolled like that for a minute at least before she finally came to a stop at the bottom of the cliff. She groaned when a resounding cascade of aches ran through her body as she slowly unwrapped her limbs from around herself. The world was still spinning and Ciri collapsed onto her back as she waited for it to slow.

She stayed like that for several moments after she could finally stare up at the trees without wanting to vomit, and took inventory of her body as she lay still. Her side stung rather horribly and her whole body was incredibly sore, but other than a few insignificant scratches that littered her face, arms, and legs, she figured she was OK.

Ciri pushed herself up from the ground with a grimace and looked around at her surroundings. The wolf was nowhere in sight, which was good, but she had no idea how to get back up to the top of the cliff.

Panic was rising in her throat again but she pushed it back down. Getting upset over a situation never helped her when she was running from the Feathered Knight. It definitely wouldn't help her now.

She started trekking through the snow and followed the base of the cliff after she'd conceded that it was too icy and steep to try to climb. Surely, she could find some sort of trail or piece of land that was suitable enough to bring her back up to the top.

Ciri kept walking even as the afternoon sun started to grow dim and her entire body screamed for her to stop and rest, both because of how much she still hurt from the fall and because of the bitter cold that was swiftly settling in around her. She hadn't heard the whispers that had danced over the wind and lured her into the forest since the wolf attacked her, and it was clear she wasn't going to make it back to the keep in time for her lesson.

She didn't want to see the look on Vesemir's face when she finally turned up again. Or Geralt's, either.

Ciri let out a frustrated cry and kicked up a cloud of snow with her boot. This was a stupid idea, an even stupider idea than the time she decided to try one of Mousesack's potions from his "very-off-limits cabinet," as he'd say. And, yet again, she had to figure out what to do on her own. Not even Dara was here to help her think of where to go next.

She did her best to ignore the eery whooing of owls and occasional howls from wolves far off in the distance as the sun started to flicker below the horizon, leaving nothing but a dim darkness over the mountainside. She tried not to think of what monsters could be lurking nearby as she trudged on through the forest. An injured wolf had been hard enough to ward off, let alone whatever the witchers occasionally wandered into the woods to fight.

Ciri was about ready to collapse against one of the trees in a defeated heap when the faint smell of smoke reached her nose. She looked around slowly for any sign of its source, and stopped when she spotted the faint glow of lights off in the distance.

A small cottage came into view as she got closer to the lights, which she could now tell were glowing from the cottage's small windows. She didn't know if she dared get any closer. Geralt hadn't mentioned any other occupants on the mountain, and she didn't know what kind of people were inside. But the wind was starting to pick up and with her luck, more snow would fall over the area soon.

She passed an old stone foundation of a building that had clearly disappeared from the mountainside years ago, then walked by several more. The small stone cottage appeared to be the last building standing in a village that was otherwise long gone.

Ciri crept closer to the cottage, careful to make her footsteps as quiet as possible. There wasn't a stable, and no horses were tied up out front. Ciri thought that peculiar, same for the way huge clouds of smoke billowed out of a rather small chimney. The only time she'd seen smoke coming out of a cottage like that was when one caught fire not far from the Cintran castle.

She kept moving closer to the cottage, growing more curious with each step. She was nearly at its gate when she bumped into what felt like an invisible wall. The air around her felt like it was buzzing when the force knocked her to the ground.

The sound of a door flinging open and crashing against a wall rang against Ciri's ears. She didn't dare stand up to see who had come outside.

"Show yourself!" a woman called out harshly.

Ciri shuffled backwards on her hands and feet, fully ready to jolt up and sprint off into the woods when she felt her back hit another invisible wall that hadn't been there before.

"Doesn't matter. I know where you are anyway," the woman drawled, this time clearly closer than before.

A figure swung open the gate and stopped short when she looked down at Ciri. The light from the cottage shimmered against sleek black hair that hung in wavy tendrils against the woman's shoulders, and her simple but fine black dress was reminiscent of what the noblewomen wore in Cintra, but too form-fitting to have fit in with their fashion. Ciri thought the woman's expression would almost pass for disinterest if it wasn't for the curious spark that glimmered in her incredibly violet eyes.

"Interesting," she said. "What happened to you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely pushed off all of my responsibilities to stay up late and finish this tonight, so hope you all enjoyed and are doing well! Comments and kudos always appreciated :)


	22. The Cottage

"Can you pass me more ceme- ugh, you fucker. Not like that!"

Eskel let out a low growl as he wiped wet cement off his trousers. Lambert's laugh echoed in the chilly winter air, the offending shovel in his rough hands still tilted up toward the sun.

"You're a child," Geralt grunted as he filled and smoothed out the cracks on the wall they had been working on for at least two hours now. They only had a few small sections left to fill now that the sun was starting to send a faint orange glow over the landscape.

"He's a right fucking menace who's going to ruin my best pants," Eskel shook his head. Geralt paused from lathering the stone with cement and turned to look incredulously at the scarred witcher.

Lambert's laughter faded to a few chuckles as he raised his brow. "Best pants? Since when did you give two shits about your pants?"

"A family in Nazair gave them to me after a contract," Eskel frowned. "I've had them since early autumn and haven't gotten a single tear in them since. Not even when I got scratched up by a horde of alghouls on the way here. I've never had a pair as sturdy as these."

"I don't know what shocks me more," Lambert started. "You fawning over trousers, or the fact that you could get a contract in Nazair then. The countryside had been torched to hell when I was there late summer. Couldn't find a contract anywhere, save for a few coins to help dig graves."

"It was in a village at the base of the mountains there. Nilfgaard must have missed it on their way by," Eskel said and picked up another stone. "It didn't seem like the villagers were in touch with the rest of the continent. The ones I talked to had no idea Assengard had burned, let alone Cintra. If they did, they probably would have turned me away like every other town."

"Hmm," Geralt hummed. Humans liked witchers even less in times of war. Geralt had seen that firsthand over the years. If an army was nearby, townsfolk would stare at him as if he would join the soldiers in their merciless slaughter the moment it started.

Lambert grabbed another stone from the pile and settled it between an opening on the wall.

"The whole continent was gone to shit by the time I started north. The best contract I could find paid 40 crowns for a cockatrice come the first snow fall," he spat. "It was big fucker, too."

"Did you take it?" Geralt asked.

Lambert frowned, seeming insulted. " 'Course not! Only a Cat would agree to a shit deal like that."

"I wouldn't put it past you if you did," Eskel said as he worked. "I was nearly out of coin by the time I arrived here. Nilfgaard's run the continent dry with this damned war. The countryside is terrified."

"For once, I don't blame them," Lambert added. "I passed Nilfgaard on their way to Cintra. Biggest army I've ever seen. Though each one of the viney fuckers walked like two thumbs were jammed up their ass. Especially the man leading them at the front. That one had a giant fucking feather sticking up from his helmet like some deranged bird."

Geralt stopped scraping the grey mush against the stones just long enough that Eskel noticed his pause.

"You know him?" the scarred witcher asked.

"Just from Ciri. He almost captured her the night Cintra fell."

Eskel gave a small nod. "Good thing you were there then."

Geralt felt something uncomfortable tug deep within his stomach. Without another word, he looked back at the section of the wall he was working on and continued securing the stones. He didn't bother telling Eskel that he hadn't actually been able to get Ciri out in time. Lately, something tight twinged in his chest whenever he thought of that night; about how he had left her on her own for so long.

They were quiet for a while longer. Lambert eventually broke the silence by bringing up an especially nasty wyvern he faced in Lyria over the spring, and Eskel traded his own story of a werewolf he fought off in Redania.

Geralt didn't join in. He hadn't fought nearly as many monsters as usual over the months before arriving at the keep, and the ones he had for the most part were dull encounters at best. He also just didn't feel like talking. It was hard enough trying to push down a growing sense of discomfort in his chest without having to try to form a sentence about beasts he'd rather forget.

They were just finishing up the last section of the wall when Geralt spotted Vesemir's graying head approach them.

"Vesemir," he greeted. The older witcher stopped beside him and nodded at the wall.

"The grouting looks good. Better than that section over there," Vesemir said, pointing to the portion of the wall Lambert had been working on. Lambert crossed his arms and looked like he was about to say something back when his thought was interrupted by Eskel's laughs. A punch from Lambert only made them louder.

"Still boys," he shook his head and turned to face Geralt better. "Ciri's late for her lesson. Thought she might be here with you."

Geralt stood up and wiped his hands on a rag that had been shoved into his back pocket.

"I haven't seen her since this morning. She was supposed to be cleaning the stables," Geralt said.

"Hmm. I didn't sense her there when I walked by on the way here."

Geralt felt the tension in chest pull the slightest but tighter. He did his best to ignore it. "I'll go find her. Jaskier's probably distracting her."

"Wouldn't be surprised. I'll be in my study waiting for her," Vesemir said. "Let her know she'll have extra reading for being late."

The older witcher turned back toward the keep as Geralt put his tools in a bucket and wiped down his hands again to get as much of the pasty cement off of his fingers. He followed Vesemir's trail soon after.

This wasn't the first time Ciri was late for her lessons. She had overslept for one of their sword trainings last week (after insisting she could stay up to watch a gwent tournament between the witchers and Jaskier the night before) and was known to wander into Vesemir's study a few minutes late after chatting with Jaskier or training with Geralt, even if she knew it would mean more reading that night.

Geralt headed inside and walked toward the kitchens. She wasn't there sneaking any of the rolls Jaskier had finished that morning, nor was she anywhere nearby. He checked the library and her room, even knocking on the bathroom door at the end of the hall after a moment of silent debate. He didn't think she was in there, but he still felt obligated to check. The door had creaked open and revealed an empty room when he rapt his knuckles against the door.

He couldn't sense her anywhere nearby, but he still checked the rooms for her anyway. It was the first time in his life that he had hoped his enhanced senses were wrong.

He continued his search for the girl to no avail, and he wanted to find her as quickly as possible. The tightness in his chest was the closest thing to dread he had felt since he saw Cintra burning around Calanthe's dead body. He wanted that feeling gone.

Geralt was just about to turn up the staircase that led to Vesemir's study to see if he'd somehow miss her when he heard Eskel's voice travel up from downstairs.

"-he's looking for her now."

"Well, I just went up there to ask Vesemir what he wanted for dinner and didn't see her," Jaskier answered.

Geralt looked up at Vesemir's door before shaking his head and heading toward the bard and his brother. He quickly walked down the stairs toward them.

"Geralt! I heard the little cub was late for her lesson again," Jaskier smiled. "Where did you find her this time? In the kitchens sneaking food or asleep in the library? I found her there last week and wouldn't be surprised if she was curled up by the fire-"

"I didn't find her," Geralt grunted. Jaskier's smile fell slightly.

"Oh. Did you check the stables? She was there earlier and-"

"Going there now."

Eskel shared a look with Lambert as Geralt passed by them with a stony face on his way outside. "I'll come with you. I was heading that way anyway," he said. "Though Jaskier and Lambert will likely have run into her by the time you get back."

Geralt didn't answer as he approached the door. He also didn't look back to see Jaskier's frown or Eskel's concerned look as he yanked it open and disappeared outside.

He stayed quiet as he made his way toward the stables with Eskel close behind. Neither of them spoke while they walked, something Geralt was grateful for. He wasn't in the mood to grunt away the chatter Lambert or Jaskier would have tried to fill the silence with.

A sinking feeling settled in Geralt's stomach once they reached the stables. He didn't hear any movement that sounded human in the barn, nor did he sense any human's presence. He opened the door to the stables and scanned the room. Ciri wasn't there, and, he noted when he saw an empty stall with its door ajar, neither were the pigs.

He heard their shrilly oinks from the pasture and passed the other stalls, even Roach's, without a second glance. One of the pigs nearly barreled him over when he opened the door, the animal eager to get back into the warmth of the barn. He stepped aside as the other pigs quickly filed in.

"Why were they still outside?" Eskel asked as the pigs moved past him.

Geralt didn't answer and quickly moved out into the afternoon sun. He stopped short when he saw a small pair of footprints trail across the snowy paddock and stop before one of the shorter ends of the outer walls. Suddenly, the sinking feeling felt like a rock plummeting to the bottom of his stomach.

"Fuck," he muttered. He started toward the wall as panic set into his chest. It was clear where she went. It just had to be the one place he told her not to go.

"Geralt! Get back here!" Eskel called out as he chased after him. Geralt didn't slow or turn to look back at him. Only when he felt a hand roughly pull on his arm did he stop.

"Let me go," he growled.

"And what, let you go out there unarmed? You'll get maimed by the first thing that sees you," Eskel said.

Geralt glared back at his brother as best he could. "That'll be Ciri if I don't find her."

"Right, but at least get your sword," Eskel huffed. "You'll be no good to her if you can't protect her from a monster or get killed by one before you can."

Geralt looked down at the ground with glare. He pushed off the witcher's grip and stormed back toward the stable, ignoring Eskel when he followed after him.

He threw open the stable doors, then the doors at its front on his way to the armory. He wasted no time crossing the courtyard and grabbing his sword from the hut once he arrived. He ignored the pile of his freshly-oiled armor in the corner, but stopped briefly to stare at Eskel when he grabbed his own sword. Neither of them said anything before heading back toward the pasture.

They easily hopped over the wall. Geralt's stomach jerked again when he saw Ciri's small footprints trail off and disappear next to ones left by Eskel and Lambert.

"She must have walked in those," Eskel nodded. Geralt moved past him and started to follow them through the forest.

Geralt felt more uneasy with each step as he quickly trudged along the trail. Ciri had asked to go into the forest with him at least several times, either to hunt or just explore. Part of him felt bad each time he said no. He knew Kaer Morhen was a harsh and often boring place for a child. He had done his best to make it feel as welcoming as possible, even if Jaskier's presence clearly livened the keep up for her more than his ever could.

He tried to listen to anything she said and did his best not to be the "brooding brick wall" Jaskier liked to teasingly call him. He shared with her stories from his time on the path and the few happy ones from his childhood as often as he could, even though he knew it wasn't often enough. He always reminded himself to praise her when she did well during training and not chide her too much when she didn't. He still remembered his own embarrassment as a boy whenever the older witchers scoffed at his mistakes.

Above all, he tried to be affectionate and reassuring when a shadow of fear or pain passed over her face. It had only been less than a year since her entire world burned to ashes, and he would be surprised if she didn't still seem affected by what had happened. The feeling of having a life ripped away from you was something he knew well. But most the time, he felt like all he could do was rest a hand on her shoulder or wrap an arm around her back when the ghosts of her home flashed across her mind.

Geralt knew she needed more. He just wasn't sure it was something he could give her, destiny be damned.

He tried to ignore the part of his mind that screamed about how this was somehow his doing. He had a tendency to push people away, and was sure he could do it again, even if he didn't realize it in the moment.

They continued through the forest for a half hour or so without any trace of the girl, save for the footprints in the snow. Geralt's mind was both racing and numb as he moved. He hardly noticed when Eskel froze behind him.

"Geralt- look."

Geralt snapped his head to where the scarred witcher was pointing. His gut dropped even further than before when he saw a pattern of pawprints near that of a small set of footprints in the snow.

He jerked forward and skimmed the ground with his golden eyes for some sign of a struggle. Ciri must have crossed the frozen stream and moved around a bit as the animal - a wolf, by the looks of the prints - chased after her. He felt some of his fear disappear when he determined there wasn't any blood splattered on the snow.

It came rushing back when he saw her steps stop at the edge of a steep cliff.

Without a second thought, Geralt ran over and pulled his sword out of its hilt. He sat down at the cliff's edge and started sliding down its side with his silver sword jammed into the earth to keep him from losing control.

"Geralt! For fuck's sake..." Eskel called out with a huff before mimicking Geralt's own movements to chase after him.

Geralt jerked up when he reached the bottom unharmed. He looked around and hurried over to a dent in the snow when his eyes landed on it.

The imprint was the right size to have been made by Ciri's body, and he was equally concerned and relieved when he only saw a small patch of blood on the white powder. His eyes followed the footprints that led away deeper into the forest. He felt Eskel come to a stop beside him.

"That way," he grunted and moved forward.

They followed the trail as darkness started to settle over the trees. He kept his eye out for any sign that Ciri had struggled or been attacked by some beast or another. But all he saw were the small footprints that seemed to have come from a girl shuffling through the snow.

He squinted slightly when he made out the light of a cottage off in the distance.

"Since when was has that been there?" Eskel asked.

"I don't know," Geralt said. "We're near Vel Tarek."

Eskel scoffed. "You know as well as I that the village has been nothing more than old foundations for centuries."

Geralt was inclined to agree. But as they continued forward, it was clear someone had moved into the ancient village.

Ciri's footprints trailed near the cottage. Once they got closer, he saw that they clearly disappeared into the stone home. He didn't truly start to panic until the buzzing of magic rushed over his skin. Ciri being alone with strangers was bad enough. The thought of her alone with someone who could hone in chaos, who had the means to overpower her, was terrifying.

Geralt ran forward and ignored Eskel's calls for him to wait up. He was so focused on getting to Ciri that he hardly noticed the way the chaos around the cottage practically moved aside for him to enter the yard, while it blocked out Eskel completely, or the faint smell of lilac and gooseberries that reached his nose once he approached the door.

He forced down the door and stormed inside. His eyes quickly scanned the quaint room until they landed on the ashen-haired girl who sat near the window. He wanted to sag with relief when she seemed to be in one piece.

Any calm he felt drained away as quickly as it came when the furious stare of violet-eyed woman caught his own.

_Fuck._

* * *

Ciri felt like her jaw had been wired shut as she looked up at the woman standing over her outside of the cottage.

"Well? Did something happen to you, or do you always look this feral?"

Ciri glanced down and took in the state of her clothes. Her pants were covered in dirt and torn in several places, as was her cloak and shirt - especially where the gash on her side still thrummed with pain.

"I had to beat back a wolf," Ciri said, leaving out the part about tumbling down a cliff. She'd prefer it if this stranger thought she warded off the beast, rather than simply escaped it.

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You fought off a wolf?"

"I did," Ciri said, straightening up and mirroring the woman's critical expression. "Is it really so hard to believe that a girl can protect herself?"

Something shifted in the woman's face, softening her hard look just the slightest.

"It shouldn't be," she said. The distant cascade of howls Ciri had been hearing as she wondered through the forest started up again. Only this time, the cries sounded closer.

The woman's peculiar eyes looked out at the trees before she turned on her heel and started to walk back into the cottage.

"You might want to come inside before they find out you bested their friend," she called over her shoulder. "Unless you'd rather challenge them, too."

Ciri stayed still on the ground as she watched the woman disappear into the cottage with an air so graceful yet nonchalant she thought it might even rival her grandmother's. She didn't like the idea of taking refuge with a stranger who lived on a mountainside Geralt said was supposed to only be occupied by witchers and the beasts they hunted. But it was almost completely dark now and she still had no idea where she was, let alone how long or dangerous it would be to try to make it back to the keep tonight.

Another round of howls echoed over the forest. Feeling like she might not be so lucky if she was met with glowing eyes and a nasty snarl (or several) again, she quickly got up and followed the woman inside.

The warmth that hit her when she walked through the doorframe of the cottage felt like an embrace after spending so long wandering the forest. She shut the door and froze when the same buzzing sensation she felt outside rolled over her again.

Ciri did her best to shrug off the feeling, even though it didn't really seem threatening. Just... different, she supposed. She took a hesitant step forward and let her eyes wander over the room.

A bright fire was ablaze in a stone hearth on one side of the room, while a table covered in herbs, spices, and viles of other things she couldn't quite discern stood against a wall nearby. Two plain but comfortable looking chairs sat on either side of one of the room's two large windows, and a worn rug covered in embroidered flowers rested under their wooden legs. Ciri's eyes tried to roam over the dozen or so books that lined a shelf across the room, but even with the glow of the firelight, their names were too faint to read from where she stood.

The cottage was well kept but simple. Ciri didn't think it quite matched the elegant woman before her.

"I didn't know I had any neighbors out here in the middle of nowhere," the woman drawled. "If that's what you are."

Ciri straightened up again under the woman's stare. It felt like she was being sized up each time the violet eyes landed on her.

"I live further down the mountain. Father and I were out hunting and got separated," Ciri lied as best she could. If the woman didn't believe her, she didn't show it.

"Most fathers wouldn't bother teaching their daughters such skills, as necessary as they might be now that the continent's gone to shit," Yennefer raised a brow. Ciri took a deep breath before answering. She couldn't help but feel like this was some sort of test.

"He wants me to be self-sufficient, I suppose."

The woman simply looked Ciri up and down before she turned and headed toward a cabinet in the corner. Without a word, she pulled out a few rags and dunked them into a bucket of water on the table, then grabbed a roll of gauze.

"Sit down on one of those chairs so I can see to those cuts."

Ciri grew tense. The woman hadn't given her reason to earn distrust yet, but Ciri didn't like the thought of being so close to her, either. She watched her roll her eyes.

"I would have done so already if I wanted to hurt you, girl. Sit."

The woman's tone left no room for argument. Ciri did as she said, though she didn't let her eyes leave her once as she slowly sat down on the cushion, mindful of the aches screaming through parts of her body. The woman pulled the other chair closer before sitting down in front of her. Ciri did her best not to flinch when she pressed a warm, wet cloth to a shallow but stinging cut on her forehead.

"How about your mother? Is she a fierce warrior like yourself?"

Ciri shook her head slightly. "She died when I was little. I don't remember her much."

That wasn't a lie, at least. The woman slowed in her dabbing just the slightest, but picked the pace back up not a moment later.

"Any brothers or sisters?"

Ciri shook her head again.

"You're lucky," the woman hummed as she moved to a cut on Ciri's arm. "I was the oldest of eight. Each one was as devilish as the next."

"Did you grow up here, too?" Ciri asked.

"No."

Ciri waited for her to say more. She spoke again when the woman didn't.

"Where are you from?"

Violet eyes met Ciri's own green pair.

"You first."

Ciri furrowed her brows. She pushed down a slight shiver of nerves. "I've lived here my whole life-"

"And I've never met a person who was born and raised this far north sounding the way you do," the woman said with a slight tug at her lips. Ciri was quiet. Just as she started to string together a story about being a refugee from the south, the woman spoke again.

"How about this. I won't ask about your past if you don't ask about mine."

Ciri nodded. She thought that was a fair enough deal.

The woman finished cleaning the cuts on Ciri's arms and shoulders and got up to wring the rag through water again. She came back over and pointed at her side.

"Let me see that one there."

Ciri shrugged off her vest and rolled up her shirt enough so that the warm air of the cottage ran over her bare stomach. She flinched when the woman touched the cut. It was a lot deeper and hurt much more than the others.

She did her best not to flinch again as the woman washed out the dirt and rocks that had gotten lodged in her flesh.

"Do you usually hunt in this area?" she asked Ciri while she worked.

"No. The game typically isn't as good farther up the mountain, but we haven't had much luck near our cottage this winter. Father said the villagers have been coming up and hunting whatever they can find in case the war reaches them," she lied. "Doesn't leave much for us."

"He should tell them to fuck off."

Ciri smiled. "It's alright. We have enough grain and vegetables to last the winter. Besides, he doesn't seem to be the type to deny food to those who need it."

The woman's eyes flickered up to Ciri's again. "Doesn't seem to be? You don't know what kind of man your father is?"

Ciri was silent as she tried to think of something to say.

"We weren't close before my mother died..." she said, looking down at the flowers that twirled around the carpet. She wasn't sure how to describe why things were different then; why Geralt had never been in her life before now. Mainly, because she didn't have an answer for herself to exaggerate.

The dabbing on her side stopped.

"Is he kind to you?" the woman said. Her expression was more serious than before.

"Of course! He just wasn't there much," Ciri said quickly. "But he's been as kind to me as he can since. It's... complicated."

"Most fathers are. Can't say I liked mine very much," the woman said with a hint of disgust in her voice. She looked up at Ciri again. "Don't take that as permission to ask more."

She unwrapped the gauze and started to wind it around Ciri's torso, but Ciri was too busy staring at a bubbling pot in the other corner she hadn't noticed before. It was a faint green color and almost sparkling puffs of steam flowed up from it. Ciri thought it looked more like one of the potions she had learned about or seen at Kaer Morhen than it did any stew she had ever tried.

"Can I ask another question?"

"Depends on what it is."

Ciri nodded toward the corner. "What's that over there?"

The woman followed where Ciri was staring at before turning back to her and tying the bandage into place. "Nothing you would be able to stomach."

She knelt down in front of Ciri to clean up the few cuts that littered her legs. Ciri watched the bubbles slowly pop as they broke through the surface of the cauldron's contents one by one. Now that she looked closer at the vials on the table, she thought several looked like a restorative potion she had read about last week, while another looked like a brew she couldn't name but recognized from a book Vesemir had given her.

Ciri rubbed a hand against her injured side as she thought about the cauldron and the items nearby. She realized after a moment that the pain was completely gone, both in that cut and all of the others she'd gotten. The only thing she felt was the faint buzzing of something so familiar but difficult to place.

The realization washed over her suddenly.

"Are you a-"

The woman snapped her head up at the door, her reaction causing Ciri to stop talking. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was pulled tight, making the nerves Ciri had slowly shaken off come rushing back.

"For fuck's sake," she muttered after a moment. Just as she stood up, the front door flung off of its hinges and landed against the window on the other wall, cracking one of the panes of glass.

A hulking figure stormed in. Ciri nearly yelped in fear before she saw Geralt's golden eyes wildly scan around the room. She thought he looked like he was about to tear through the entire cottage. His face only softened - even if it was just the slightest bit - when his eyes landed on hers. Whatever relief she'd seen in them quickly vanished when they flickered to the woman in front of him. His body came to a sudden stop.

"Yenn?" he muttered, eyes wide and jaw tense.

The woman crossed her arms and glared at the witcher. Ciri hadn't seen a woman look that furious since Grandmother caught one of the Skellige ladies flirting with Grandfather at one of their last feasts together. They were both staring at each other in angry silence. Or, in Geralt's case, terrified silence.

Something struck through Ciri's mind as she stared at the woman. The name Geralt just said suddenly hit her, and she jumped up from the chair with a bright smile.

"Wait, you're Yennefer?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Another long one I ignored my responsibilities to write. Hope you all enjoyed panicky! Geralt as much as I did writing him. And Yennefer- I love her as a character and want to do her justice, so we'll see where that goes! Thank you for the support as always! Your comments and kudos make my day! Till next time :)


	23. The Sorceress

Geralt had never wanted to flee a room or melt into the floor as badly as he did now.

Yenn's glare was even more fiery than he remembered. It stood out against the almost gleeful grin on the girl in the corner, who he wanted to grab and run back to Kaer Morhen with as quickly as he could. Maybe he'd first take a moment to hug her out of relief or shout at her for going into the forest alone. He wasn't sure yet which would make him feel better.

Had the unexpected sight of a fuming Yennefer not made his mouth go dry and limbs feel as if they were pinned under the weight of the largest keep on the continent, they would already be on their way back to the keep.

_"Wait, you're Yennefer?"_

The mage didn't bother to answer Ciri's rather obvious question or peel her glower away from Geralt when she finally spoke.

"Of course you were able to get through the wards," she said with a laugh so cold that it made even Ciri's smile falter. "I thought I made it clear that I wanted nothing to do with you, Witcher."

Geralt swallowed hard before he managed to speak.

"I'm not here for you," he said and looked over at Ciri. Yennefer followed his gaze.

"I see. You lost your Child of Surprise," she said with a mocking smile. "It's a wonder you found her in the first place. You bristled rather violently at the idea of fatherhood a year ago."

Geralt didn't like the sullen look that suddenly crossed Ciri's face. He quickly glared back at the mage.

"And you wanted to be a mother, yet I don't see a cradle."

Yennefer stepped forward with fury still flaring in her eyes, along with a faint glow of hurt. His anger drifted away as suddenly as it had washed over him.

"I wish I did," he added before she could speak. She stopped short and took a deep breath.

"Just take her and leave."

Ciri jerked forward. "Wait! We can't go, not without you," she pleaded.

Yennefer turned her glare on the girl, though it was noticeably more soft than the one she had sent Geralt. "I'm not wasting any more time on him-"

"Please just hear me out. I have some sort of magic that I can't control. It hurts and kills people and I- I just don't want to hurt anyone else. It's been acting out since I fled the castle and-"

"Castle?" Yennefer carefully appraised her. "Who are you?"

"Princess Cirilla," she took a deep breath. "Of Cintra."

Yennefer whipped around to stare incredulously at the witcher. "For fuck's sake, Geralt," she scrubbed a hand over her face. She was about to say something else, but paused when a bright glow suddenly emanated from a small orb on a shelf across the room.

"Shit. You need to leave," she said and swept toward the door.

"Why?" he asked, moving next to Ciri. A muscle in his hand twitched, ready to grab the hilt of his sword the moment any danger appeared.

"The others will be back soon," she started. Geralt opened his mouth to ask more but was cut off by the mage. "Where do you need to be?"

"Kaer Morhen."

"Come on then."

Yennefer opened the door and stormed outside. Geralt nodded for Ciri to follow but didn't meet her green eyes as they gazed up at him. All he felt capable of doing right now was trudging after the mage or fighting off any threat that might appear. Ciri, and the mix of fear and anger her journey into the forest had sent spiraling in him, would have to wait until later.

They walked outside and saw Eskel standing just beyond the gate with his sword drawn and golden eyes locked on the mage. Yennefer barely cast him a second glance as she opened a portal.

"Another witcher," she drawled. "Wonderful."

"Who's this?" Eskel demanded.

"Yennefer. She's bringing us back to Kaer Morhen," Geralt answered.

The scarred witcher's eyebrows shot up. "Isn't that the mage you-"

"Just step through the fucking portal," she snapped. Her jaw was tense and small beads of sweat were quickly forming on her forehead. Geralt thought that was odd, but stayed quiet.

Eskel shook his head and stepped forward.

"Fucking hate portals..." he muttered and disappeared through the glowing opening.

Geralt nudged Ciri and stayed close behind her as they walked into the portal. Ciri stopped and flinched back when its blinding light poured over them as the passed through, but Geralt clamped a hand on her shoulder to guide her to the other side. He'd heard horrible tales of people being sent to different dimensions, sometimes not all in one piece, just because they didn't move quickly enough through a portal. The thought of that happening to Ciri made his gut pull even more tight.

She stumbled once their feet hit the snowy ground of Kaer Morhen's courtyard, but Geralt tightened his grip on her shoulder to keep her from falling. He heard the door to the keep burst open and within a flash, Jaskier had scooped a still slightly disoriented Ciri into his arms. Vesemir and Lambert trailed out behind him.

"Cirilla! Are you alright? You had us all so worried, I can't believe you wondered off like that!" the bard pulled back and held her at arm's length. "Darling, whatever happened to your clothes? Poor dear! You must be freezing. Here, tuck under my cloak-"

Geralt turned away from Jaskier and Ciri when he heard labored breaths coming from behind him as the portal disappeared. He was shocked to find that Yennefer had followed after them, even more so that she was leaning forward and clearly struggling to catch her breath. He went to place a hand on her back.

"Yenn, are you OK-"

She swatted him away. "Don't," she growled. Jaskier caught the sight of her as she straightened slightly. He stood up with a stony face and pulled Ciri against his side.

"What's she doing here?" he spat.

"I'd ask the same of you. Don't dandelions wilt in the cold?" she said in between heavy breaths.

Jaskier quirked an eyebrow. "That was an oddly weak retort from a usually frigid bitch. Why do you look like you're about to keel over?"

"I'm fine."

"You're not," Vesemir said. Yennefer glared at him.

"At least come inside for a moment, Yenn," Geralt said quickly, not wanting the mage to turn her anger on Vesemir. By the stiff way the older witcher stood with his arms crossed, Geralt could tell he wasn't thrilled by the idea of a visitor. Her attitude wouldn't help change that.

Yennefer's lips pressed together as she breathed in deeply through her nose and looked up at him, then at the keep. They landed near the door and it wouldn't be far for her to walk to the library, he thought. She straightened up and took several heavy steps forward. She turned back around when no one immediately followed her.

"I'm aware witchers aren't known for their hospitality, but surely you don't expect a guest to guide herself through your monstrosity of a keep on her own," she drawled.

"Ah, there she is," Jaskier muttered.

Geralt moved toward her at that. They started walking inside with Jaskier and Ciri behind them, though the other witchers stayed in the courtyard. Probably so Eskel could tell them what little he knew about what happened, Geralt figured.

He stayed as close to Yennefer as he dared. Her breathing was still quite labored and he could tell she was making a considerable effort to seem unaffected by whatever had exhausted her. Geralt was ready to steady her should she stumble, though he was sure she wouldn't appreciate it.

Nothing he wasn't used to.

He stopped and opened the door to the library once they approached it. Yennefer moved through the threshold without sending him another glance and Ciri broke away from Jaskier's side to follow the mage. Geralt stopped her by grabbing her shoulder.

"We'll talk later," he grunted. Her mouth pulled tight and she looked up at him with wide, almost worried eyes.

"But Geralt-"

"Later," he said more harshly than he expected. She bit down on her bottom lip and stepped away from him, shrugging out of his grip. Jaskier quickly stepped in and pulled her back against his side.

"C'mon, love. Let's go warm you up and get you some dinner. I'll heat up some stew from earlier. Just be sure to let it cool a bit first," he glanced up at Geralt with a harder look than the witcher was used to seeing on the bard. "It could burn you if you're not careful."

With that, Jaskier gently steered Ciri away. Geralt watched them walk down the hallway for a moment before he took a deep breath and went into the library. He found Yennefer sitting on one of the sofas by the dim fire burning in the hearth. Her hair was windswept from the portal and her skin was far more pale than he remembered. He also noticed faint but tired circles under her unusually dim violet eyes.

In the cottage, she looked menacing. Here, she resembled any other victim of war he'd seen on the Path over the years; beaten down and tired.

Geralt sat on a chair across from her. He didn't look at her, nor she at him, as shadows from the fire slowly danced over them. He thought the mage was oddly quiet as she watched the flames, and the silence in the room crawled over his skin like a scratch he couldn't itch.

"What happened at Sodden?" he finally asked.

"You must have heard the stories by now," she said, not looking away from the fire. "We barely held off Nilfgaard. Most of the mages died. I'm sure your bard and plenty others have already written dreadful ballads about it."

Geralt shifted in his seat. "I meant what happened to you."

"Again, I'm fine," she said with a nasty edge to her voice. It didn't deter him.

"C'mon, Yenn. You looked like you were about to collapse after opening that portal. You still seem exhausted. And your cottage was like any other I've seen in the countryside. It was... plain."

She didn't respond for a moment.

"I have a limited amount of magic right now. No use spending it on frivolities."

Geralt quirked a brow slightly. "Why?"

Another pause.

"I used up nearly all of my chaos to end the battle. It damaged my core and it's still repairing itself slowly," she said. "Tissaia and some of the others who escaped are using that cottage as a safehouse. They've been trying to speed up the healing process, but not much has worked."

"Vesemir might be able to help-"

"I don't need his help! Or yours. And don't assume for even a moment that I'm here for you," she spat. For the first time since they had sat down, she tore her eyes from the fire to look at him. "Of all the children you could have bound to you, you chose the heir to Cintra? You're even more deluded than I originally thought!"

"I didn't want any of this."

Yennefer laughed coldly. "Why claim the Law of Surprise then? Was ruining one life not enough for you?"

Geralt suddenly felt anger pool in his chest.

"Who are you to fucking judge? You would tear apart a whole continent if it meant having a child!"

"And the entire North is burning because you refused to claim yours!"

"How? I didn't set Nilfgaard on Cintra or Sodden."

"You might as well have. Destiny doesn't treat those who try to avoid it kindly," she seethed. "If you had taken responsibility for one of your fuck ups just this one time, we might not all be suffering because of it!"

Geralt stood and glared down at the mage. Balling his fists, he walked over to the hearth and stopped before it. He looked into the fire for a moment before he turned back to face her again.

"You and I both know why I didn't take her," he said. "She deserves better than this. All of it."

Yennefer didn't respond this time. The room stayed as quiet as before, though was notably more tense.

Geralt didn't bother to look at the mage. He wanted to be anywhere but here, and decided that would be the best course of action to try to calm the churning storm in his chest. Yennefer likely still needed more time to rest before she could portal back to the cottage. He doubted she would want him for company for any longer than he had already been. He just had one more question for her before he left.

"Why did you want us gone from the cottage when the wards went off?"

"Other than the fact that I can't stand you?" she drawled.

"Yes," he grunted.

"Tissaia occasionally brings back a few of the mages who only recently defected. I'm not sure if any are still loyal to the Council, and I doubt you'd want word of where the princess of Cintra is hiding to get back to Stregobor. Especially if she contains any surmountable amount of chaos."

He tensed even more at the thought of the old sorcerer thinking of Ciri, let alone searching for her.

"Hmm," he started. "About her chaos-"

"Don't ask," Yennefer interrupted. "I'm not spending one moment here longer than I need to. You've stolen enough time from me as it is."

Geralt didn't bother to argue. Her steely glare said enough.

He nodded and walked across room, doing his best to look anywhere but at her violet eyes. He didn't know what made him stop at the door on his way out when his body screamed at him to leave, or why he opened his mouth when it had just felt firmly stuck shut.

"If it helps, I'm sorry for everything that happened."

He left before he could see the sorceress's eyes start to water or her hand clench at the arm of the couch. All he could focus on now was heading back out into the cold toward the stables to try to clear his mind.

* * *

Yennefer glanced over the bookshelf closest to the couch she was sitting on for what felt like the hundredth time in the last half hour.

Most of the books were about beasts or potions; an unsurprising find in a keep that belonged to witchers. A few looked mildly interesting at best, particularly one that had clearly come from Aretuza. She could tell by the faint tendrils of familiar chaos swirling around it.

She was so desperate for a distraction from her thoughts that she almost stood up and opened it to see what it was about, but with her chaos almost fully restored (well, as fully restored as it could be these days), she didn't bother. She would be gone soon enough, hopefully leaving this place for good.

Seeing Geralt barge into the cottage like the woefully unaware brute she remembered had made her stomach roil with anger. Like nearly every other person in her life, the witcher had taken away her choice to live as she wanted. Her father had sold her away from her family. Tissaia had demanded she live. Chaos robbed her of her womb. Kings for years controlled how she could use her magic. And, because of Geralt, a djinn took away her choice of who she could love.

Tissaia often mocked her for wanting everything. But it was only because she wanted everything back.

Yennefer moved her fingers, feeling chaos buzzing in them again. The sound of footsteps and then the door creaking open reached her ears. She closed her eyes and let out an annoyed puff of air through her nose.

"You're quite intrusive for someone who loves to brood alone," she sighed.

"It's not Geralt."

Yennefer looked back at the man standing in the door. He was in the same horridly green doublet as earlier.

"Bard."

"You haven't gone yet?"

"Obviously. But don't worry, I was just on my way out," Yennefer said and stood. She could probably use a few more minutes rest, but she should have enough chaos now to get back to the cottage. She started toward the door but stopped when the bard stuck out a hand.

"Wait, don't leave," he said. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Talk?" she repeated. He stepped forward a few paces.

"Yes. I'm quite good at it, as you know," he said with a kind smile; something he had never sent her way in the past. She found it unnerving. "Ciri told me how she came across you, and explained that you might be able to help her with her chaos. She's rather set on the idea. And now that I've thought about it, so am I."

Yennefer raised a brow.

"You've never liked me. Why want me here to interfere with your precious witcher and his destiny again?"

He nodded his head, considering what she said. "True. I've never liked you. You're abrasive, conceded and, truth be told, quite scary-"

She scoffed.

"-but Ciri needs you. I'm willing to risk you fucking up Geralt again if it means you can help her. We're all at our wits end about what to do. Vesemir's been researching for weeks with no luck. We have no idea what sort of magic she possesses other than that it's deadly and terrifying," he frowned. "She's good at hiding it, but that poor girl is scared to death of herself."

"Who's to say I'll know what to do?" she said.

"You might not, but I'm begging you to at least try," Jaskier said. A desperation had crawled into his voice and it was making Yennefer even more uncomfortable than she already was. "Ciri's the sweetest, brightest thing. None of us could deal with losing her - Geralt especially. She's changed him. He actually strings more than two words together now. And he's just been... better."

"Eloquently said for a bard," she rolled her eyes.

"It's hard to describe," he huffed. "He's more open. More of a... friend. What happened between you two shouldn't be the downfall of that poor girl."

Yennefer looked around at the room, avoiding the bard's pathetic stare. The thought of seeing Geralt again made nerves run from her chest all the way to the tips of her fingers. She wanted to be as far away from this place as possible, but of course Tissaia had to pick the one mountain the witcher called home as their hide out. And, as the wide green eyes of his Child Surprise blinked in her mind, a part of her knew she wouldn't be able to stay away from his blasted keep for long.

She silently promised herself that if she did find herself inside these walls again, it would be because of the girl and her alone.

"I'll consider it," she finally said.

Yennefer glided past the bard and left the library. She didn't look back as she walked toward the keep's front doors, nor when she stepped foot in it's scraggly courtyard. With all of the energy and chaos she could muster, Yennefer summoned a portal and stepped through. She was gasping for air by the time she landed on her knees in front of the cottage.

"Where were you off to this time?" she heard Tissaia call from the doorway a moment later.

"Scouting south of here," she said hoarsely.

"Find anything useful?"

Yennefer stood on shaky legs and wiped a small trail of sweat from her forehead.

"Not particularly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really toiled around with this one trying to make it as smooth and natural as possible, since it's honestly a bit chaotic, so hope you all enjoyed! I'm not sure how portaling works exactly -- let's just pretend that all a mage needs is a name of a place to get there if that's not already cannon lol. I've made up half the monsters I mentioned already so what's a little more creative license! Thank you for your kind words and kudos, they always make me smile! Till next time!


	24. The Brush

"I told Lambert he overcooked the beef, but he seemed rather offended by the idea that his 'cuisine' wasn't such. I shouldn't be surprised. He completely ruined yesterday's porridge with too much sugar. And that's coming from me, the biggest sweet tooth on the continent!"

Ciri forced a small smile at the bard as he finished scrubbing the bowl she'd eaten her dinner out of. The candles in the kitchen glowed dimly now that the few windows lining its walls showed nothing but the darkness that blanketed the mountain. Each time Jaskier flailed his arms or bopped his head to give life to a story, his shadow danced around the room with such energy that it almost seemed cruel for it to be stuck inside the gloomy keep.

She thought it made her own shadow seem even more small and stagnant than it already was.

Jaskier picked up a towel to dry off the bowl. Ciri watched the cloth circle the wooden rim, but she wasn't really listening to the bard as he started describing the worst meal he'd ever had. She'd heard the tale before. That, and she was busy mulling over a thought she hadn't manage to push out of her mind since arriving back at the keep.

_"You bristled rather violently at the idea of fatherhood a year ago."_

Those words hit Ciri hard when the mage first uttered them in the cottage. And, to her dismay, they had yet to lose their bite.

"-then the barmaid had the sheer audacity to shrug when I pointed to the talons sticking out of the crow pie! Can you believe it?"

"Mhmm," she hummed. Jaskier set down the bowl and raised a brow.

"Oh dear. A post-verbal response from an audience is never good. Well, save for tears or cheers. And if it's Geralt, I suppose," he said with a pensive nod of his head. "Tired, love?"

"Not because your story wasn't interesting," she said quickly.

"Even if it were, I wouldn't be offended. I've had far harsher critiques," Jaskier smiled. He stepped forward and held out a hand to help her up from her seat. "Come on, let's get you off to bed."

Ciri took it and stood. Jaskier tossed the towel onto the table and strode to the door with her in tow.

He absent mindedly commented on the weather as they made their way up to her room, and it was times like this when Ciri was grateful for the bard's ceaseless ability to fill silence, even if what he said was mundane or unimportant (and it rarely was). This way, she didn't have to be alone with her thoughts, but she also didn't have to feign conversation when she felt capable of doing anything but.

That didn't mean the bard wasn't as good at listening as he was at talking, though. Ciri had every ounce of his attention earlier when she told him what happened in the forest and Yennefer's cottage. And when she described just how much she thought she needed the mage.

The palpable tension between Yennefer and Geralt didn't give her much hope that the woman would stay, however. The way she quickly cut into the witcher with her harsh words was brutal at best. Ciri couldn't help but wonder what had happened between them.

"Go gather your nightclothes. I'll start running a bath for you," Jaskier said and nudged her gently once they were outside her room.

"I'd rather take one in the morning, if that's alright," she shrugged. He stopped heading toward the bathroom and turned back to her.

"Of course, darling. Though at least let me help you with your hair. It seems as if you've brought a fair chunk of the forest back with you," he stepped forward and pulled a leaf from the crown of her head. She could tell even without looking into a mirror that it was in desperate need of a good brushing, since she had already found a few other small leaves and tiny bits of twigs from her journey still lingering in her curls.

"In fact, I think I might still have a bit of lavender oil that would help clean it up nicely. I'll be back once you've dressed!" he said with a wide grin. Ciri sighed through a small smile and headed into her room.

She quickly tugged off her boots and stockings and traded her training clothes for her woolen nightgown. A knock rang at the door just as she had finished straightening out the tan garment.

"Come in," she called back.

Jaskier popped in a moment later with a small vile in his hand and a smile still plastered to his face. He grabbed the brush on her nightstand and raised it high in the air as if he were wielding a sword to lead soldiers into battle.

"Onward, good men, for we have reached the battlefield!" he said, looking over his shoulder as if he wasn't the only person in the room other than Ciri. "Any last words, Princess?"

"Pull my hair and your troops won't live to see sunrise."

Jaskier feigned a look of fear. "Spoken like the true Lion Cub of Cintra," he muttered before raising his voice again. "You heard her, men! Attack!"

Ciri giggled and sat down on the edge of her bed. She turned so the back of her head was facing the bard once he plopped down next to her and started pulling the pieces of leaves and wood from her hair.

"You picked up quite the collection of debris during your tumble. Are you sure the rest of you is alright?" Jaskier asked, briefly pausing to examine a particularly large clump of grass that had been twisted in the back of her hair.

"Yes. I had a few cuts, but Yennefer healed them," she said.

"Hmm. That very well may be the nicest thing she's ever done. Though she's always had a soft spot for children. Well, as soft a spot that's possible for her. As you saw, she's far from the warmest woman you'll meet."

Ciri's thoughts once again drifted back to Geralt's exchange with the mage in the cottage and her heart clenched. She did her best to ignore it.

"You don't like her."

Jaskier scoffed. "Not particularly. But, as I agreed earlier, she could be of use to you. And I'm willing to put up with her if that is the case."

Ciri smiled lightly at that. At least she didn't find herself doubting Jaskier's affection for her after today.

"She doesn't seem too fond of you, either," she mused. "Or Geralt."

"Not suprising. They didn't part on the best of terms."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid that tale would be best coming from one of them."

Ciri turned with a raised brow to look at the bard. He let out a chuckle.

"I know, a shocking statement from the most famous bard on the continent. But even I know when my retelling can't do a story justice. Or help shed light on the truth, since even they can't seem to agree on what it is."

She rolled her eyes. "That only leaves me with more questions than answers."

Jaskier finished picking the last twig from her hair and started running the brush over her ashen strands.

"That's just how some stories end, I'm afraid."

"The frustrating ones," she muttered. Jaskier laughed again.

"Very true, darling."

While Jaskier ran the brush through her hair and gently rubbed in the sweet smelling oil, Ciri considered the questions still lingering around her own story, as short as it may be compared to the others in the keep. Though what it lacked in length, it certainly made up for in drama.

She still didn't know why the Feathered Knight and an entire kingdom wanted her so badly, and she wasn't certain she wanted to know the answer. She didn't know why Geralt had claimed the Law of Surprise. Or why he never came for her until now.

Ciri had found herself wondering this occasionally during their journey to Kaer Morhen, and every now and again once they were settled into the keep. But it was more of a simple question then. Not the ball of dread rolling around in her stomach that it was now.

"What do you do when you really need to know an answer?" she said after a while. Jaskier was quiet for a moment.

"Well, the bard in me would say to just make it up. But seeing as it would be irresponsible of me to encourage an impressionable young girl to lie or live in a false reality, I would say it's best to simply ask questions of those who might have some kind of insight."

"Adults rarely answer my questions though," she huffed.

"I found the same thing to be true when I was a boy. But that'll change soon enough," he said. After a moment of brushing through her hair in silence, he spoke again. "Is there anything on your mind in particular? Other than the rift between Yennefer and our witcher?"

Ciri swallowed. She didn't know how to describe how she was feeling, let alone confront it out loud.

"No," she took a deep breath. "Thank you for letting me use some of your oil. I know you don't have much left."

"Of course! Your lovely hair is far more deserving of it than mine. These days, I resemble a scraggly dog more than I do a man."

Ciri smiled and looked down at her hands. It didn't last on her lips for long.

Jaskier closed the vile of oil and made one last pass through her hair with the brush. He squeezed her shoulder and stood up.

"Now that you're positively radiant, I suppose you best get some sleep. Vesemir won't be happy if you're late for your early lesson with him tomorrow."

Ciri shuffled to the head of her bed and crawled under the furs. Once she had laid down, Jaskier pulled them up to her chin and placed a quick kiss on her forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Ciri."

"Goodnight."

With that, the bard walked across the room and closed the door with a creak, leaving her alone in the dark room that was lit only by the flames slowly dancing in the fireplace.

Worry dug itself deep into her chest as she unsuccessfully tried to fall asleep. Geralt had said earlier that he wanted to talk to her, and while she couldn't predict what he would say, she was sure it would have to do with her going into the forest alone. He had seemed truly angry at her earlier, and it was the first time since they had found each other that this was the case.

It bothered her much more than when her grandparents were mad at her. Their anger never lasted long, even if was unpleasant in the moment. But she didn't know how to expect Geralt to react. She didn't want him to regret taking her in. And by the way Yennefer spoke, it seemed as if he never wanted to meet her in the first place. It made Ciri start to think he had only helped her out of pity or simply because of a sense of duty. Either way, it stung.

Ciri didn't want to be a burden, even though she knew she was. Geralt couldn't hunt as many monsters with her clinging to her side, nor save up coin if she kept needing new clothes or to stay at inns. That was, if she traveled with him to begin with. She wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to leave her at Kaer Morhen come spring. It would be far easier for him to only have to worry about himself and Roach. Maybe Jaskier, too. The bard seemed to enjoy roughing it on the road with Geralt, and he didn't make the witcher a target like Ciri did.

Maybe she shouldn't have gone into the forest. Though looking back, she wasn't sure she would have been able to resist the way the trees lured her to them. They called to her like a beacon in a storm. It wasn't as strong as the pull that she felt to Brokilon, but the connection had been there. After finding Yennefer, she guessed she knew why.

Pushing down a lump in her throat and holding back tears that slowly pooled in her eyes, Ciri rolled onto her side and did her best to fall asleep.

* * *

The flames from several torches lining the stable's walls sent bright light bouncing off of Roach's shiny coat like a sun over a still pond. The mare's mane was completely untangled and her shoes freshly changed. She was the cleanest Geralt had seen her in years, and that was saying something. He brushed her down every day as best he could, after all.

It made sense. Geralt was tending her with fresh supplies he didn't usually have access to on the Path. That, and he had been doing so for nearly two hours now.

Roach enjoyed it. She gently butted Geralt's head with her own or sighed contentedly each time he stepped near her front. But it wasn't long before running the brush over her body was less for her benefit and more for his own. It was easier to think when he had something so monotonous to do. Or easier to ignore his thoughts. It had been a steady balance between the two since he stepped into the stables after Yennefer left.

The mage's glare was something he had yet to shake from his mind. Same for the way Ciri had begged the woman for help. He knew the girl was desperate for it. They all had been since that night in the great hall. He just didn't think there was anything he could say to convince Yennefer to stay after how royally he'd fucked everything up between them.

He also wasn't sure how to tell Ciri that Yenn wouldn't be coming back. Or how to approach the girl about running off. His relief that she was unharmed had since mostly melted into an unnamable mix of frustration and confusion.

Geralt grabbed the brush to run it over Roach and keep his mind from once again wandering through all the possibilities of why Ciri had gone into the forest. It was likely just childish curiosity, but he couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with him.

He didn't know what the fuck he was doing, after all.

The witcher went to hold the brush against Roach's side again, but she swung her head around and bumped it against Geralt just hard enough that he knew she wasn't being playful.

"Fine. I'll just comb your mane one more time," he sighed.

Geralt set the brush down on the shelf behind him and grabbed the comb. Roach nudged him away again when he tried to run it through her mane.

"You've never been one to turn down pampering," he mumbled.

Roach whinnied lightly and stepped forward so she was next to the stall door. Geralt moved next to her and crossed his arms.

"It's too late to go out."

She knocked her snout into his chest. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"You want me to leave?"

Roach snorted and bopped her head. He thought it almost looked like a nod.

Geralt shook his head and went to put the last of his supplies on the shelf. He paused when he saw a bit of dirt stuck to the bottom of the bucket he'd used to wash Roach with. It wasn't too dirty, but he thought he should probably get a rag to clean it out. Then he'd go check on Ciri.

He started to walk toward the pile of dry cloths on the other side of the stall but Roach cut him off, not letting him move around her. She blocked his path again when he tried going the other way.

"I'll leave right after," he tried.

Roach didn't budge, save for the suspicious way she moved her head in the direction of the keep.

Geralt sighed and put the bucket on the ground. Even he knew he when he was stalling. This time, in a stall.

Fuck.

He patted Roach's neck and let her rub against him one more time before he pulled open the stall door. He put the last of the supplies in his hand on a table near the front of the stable and finally went outside.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its dull rays over the side of Kaer Morhen. Ciri likely would already be in bed, since tomorrow was her early lesson with Vesemir. The older witcher had wanted to take her out into the gardens at dawn to show her the different types of herbs that could be found in winter. He said going early in the morning would be best, since the gnomes that were still trying to ravage the gardens would be asleep.

Vesemir had then said de-gnoming the garden would be Geralt's next project, since Lambert kept finding excuses not to do it. Geralt assumed it had more to do with the scar on the younger witcher's finger from when he was a boy than the endless list of chores he kept coming up with.

Geralt debated if it was worth heading to Ciri's room once he was inside the keep. While the others were in the great hall still, he didn't see any sign that she was with them. And if the girl had any sense left in her after today, the only other place she would be is upstairs.

He decided to walk up the staircase anyway. He would never admit it, but something inside of his chest was screaming at him to make sure she was really in the keep. And still in one piece.

Casting a glance to the door to the great hall as he heard Eskel and Jaskier's laughter drift out from it, Geralt steeled himself and started up the stairs. He ignored the slight ball of nerves rolling around inside of him as he got closer to Ciri's room.

He could tell she was asleep in her bed once once he was close enough to her door. He still felt the need to check on her, though.

Geralt grasped the handle and slowly opened it, trying to avoid the shrieking creaks that came with most of the keep's doors. Light from the hallway soon poured over Ciri's sleeping form and bounced off of her pale hair. It was wildly sprawled out over her pillow and glimmered slightly in the light. He thought he smelled the lavender oil Jaskier always insisted on keeping in stock during their travels, regardless of how low they might be on coin.

He stood in the doorway watching her for a few moments. Ciri's back was to him but he could tell she was at ease in her sleep. She was completely still and, save for her head and an arm wrapped under her pillow, had burrowed her entire body under the furs. Her heart wasn't beating wildly like it sometimes did on the nights they spent on the road, back when he felt as if a soldier or beast would burst out from the forest and charge at her the moment he closed his eyes and relaxed enough to truly rest.

It was nice being able to fall into in a warm bed each night and actually sleep for some of it now. He just didn't know why the creeping feeling of danger occasionally lingered in the back of his mind as he tried to relax.

Geralt took a step back and started to slowly shut the door. It was nearly closed when it let out a horrible screech. Ciri rustled under covers and jerked up.

"Who's there?" she said, a nervous but stern edge to her voice.

"Fuck," he breathed. He opened the door and her face softened at the sight of him. "Just me."

"Is everything alright?" she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Yes. Sorry I woke you."

Ciri squinted at him now that her eyes were fully open and the candlelight from the hallway covered her bed. "It's OK," she mumbled. "You said earlier that you wanted to talk."

Geralt sighed. At this point, he'd rather have this conversation when they were both at least somewhat rested in the morning, instead of her looking up at him bleary eyed from sleep in her bed. But he supposed that wasn't an option now.

"I did."

She shifted. "Are you still angry?"

Geralt thought about it for a moment. "I'm not happy. You ran off into a dangerous forest."

"I wouldn't call it running off, exactly," she shrugged. Geralt frowned and pursed his lips.

"What was that then? You left the keep without telling us and ended up halfway down the mountain. After I told you not to leave Kaer Morhen."

"I wasn't trying to disobey you-"

"But you did," he cut her off. "You could have been hurt. Or killed, if a monster found you or the weather suddenly turned."

"I wasn't though," she huffed. "I'm completely fine."

"Then why were your clothes torn?"

She paused. "It was nothing."

Geralt raised a brow and crossed his arms. Ciri looked down from his hard gaze and picked at her furs. "I had to ward off a wolf, but nothing else crossed my path."

He blanched at that.

"A wolf?"

She nodded.

"And you're alright?"

" _Yes_. It shouldn't be that surprising. I managed to survive on my own before I found you, after all," she said. Most children would have sounded indignant. Instead, she just seemed exhausted.

He took a deep breath. Geralt knew she wasn't totally helpless - her powers made sure of that. But when it seemed as if the entire continent was chasing after her or was ready to turn her in, that didn't matter in the end.

He decided not to point it out. Instead, he mustered up the courage to ask a question that for some reason filled him with dread.

"Why did you leave?"

Ciri tugged lightly at a loose string hanging from the wrist of her nightgown. "I'm not really sure how to explain it. I didn't intend to go that far into the forest, and I wasn't even thinking about leaving Kaer Morhen until I let the pigs out into the pasture. When I looked at the trees, I just felt something pulling me toward them. Like there was no other place in the world that I needed to be more."

"You should have gotten me."

She stayed quiet for a moment.

"Why?" she finally said with a new strained edge to her voice. "So I could burden you even more than I already do?"

Geralt's heart clenched. He stepped closer to her.

"What?"

Ciri's eyes were quickly growing red and watery. "By the way Yennefer spoke in the cottage, it sounds like you never wanted anything to do with me. And it makes sense. You never visited Cintra. I never even knew you existed until Grandmother told me to find you. I just- I..." she paused, clearly trying to hold back tears. "Why?"

It felt like all of the air had been knocked out of Geralt's chest. Of all the things she could have asked, it had to be the one thing he had been trying to avoid since he had found her.

"It's... complicated," he muttered. "My life isn't suited for a child. It wouldn't be right to take you away from your family. Or have a witcher intrude upon it."

Ciri lowered her gaze from his again. "Why did you claim the Law of Surprise then?"

"I wasn't intending to reap a child from it. Or anything. I didn't believe in destiny," he sat down on the edge of her bed. "I was clearly wrong."

Ciri was quiet for a moment. She still didn't look back at him when she spoke.

"And Yennefer?"

Geralt let out a silent stream of air from his nostrils. "She won't be coming back. I'm sorry."

Ciri nodded her head slowly and he waited for her to speak again. She stayed silent. He wanted to leave but felt like he couldn't quite yet. Not when she still looked so upset.

"You're not a burden," he said, thinking back to what she said before. "Far from it. You're... I'm glad you're here."

The girl looked up at him. "You're just saying that."

"Do I usually lie?"

"You did when Jaskier asked if you liked his new perfume."

"Other than that."

She shook her head.

"Then I'm not lying now," he started. "I'm sorry I never visited when you were younger. Looking back, I wish I did. Even if your grandmother would have tried to turn me away the moment I set sight on the castle gates."

"Why?" Ciri quirked a brow at him.

"Have you ever known her to be good at sharing?"

Ciri scoffed. "No."

"Hmm," he smiled slightly. "I probably wouldn't have been, either."

A tiny grin tugged at the girl's lips.

"I'm sorry about running off," she said. "I'll come get you next time something seems strange."

"Good," he stood and started for the door. "Meet me in the courtyard after your lesson with Vesemir tomorrow. Lambert expects an extra set on the pendulum."

"Blindfolded?"

"Mhmm."

Ciri groaned. His smile widened as he stepped into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter for 2020... thank god this year is over, hoping you all have a MUCH better 2021! Happy New Year's!!


	25. The Scroll

"Keep your hands steady. And open your other eye-"

"Fuck!"

The arrow flew past the quail and disappeared into the forest. The bird shot its head up and took off, not stopping to send its assailants a second glance.

Jaskier swore again and dropped the bow to his side.

"A child would do better than me. In fact, Ciri hit the bullseye at least five times in the courtyard yesterday. You should have brought her along instead," he groaned.

Geralt sheathed his knife. "Maybe if she hadn't run off."

"Oh come now, Geralt. That was more than a week ago."

"Only a week ago," the witcher corrected.

Jaskier shook his head. "Either way, you can't keep her locked up forever. She's learned her lesson and should know how to properly hunt. Even if the gods only bestow that gift upon a select few of us, apparently," he muttered.

Geralt started walking through the brushy, snow covered mountainside and Jaskier followed. It had snowed again last night, but the drifts weren't deep enough to truly impede upon their hunting trip.

He had been surprised when the bard suggested it yesterday morning after taking part in some of Ciri's lessons. It seemed that one near-bullseye shot with an arrow and several whooping cheers from Ciri had made Jaskier's confidence spike. Seeing that Geralt had two plump rabbits and a snow goose hanging from his back while Jaskier remained empty handed, that shot had been a lucky one at best.

"Hunting is a skill, Jaskier. Not a talent," he started, weaving around an especially prickly looking bush. "You might get better if you trained with us."

Jaskier stumbled slightly when a thorn caught on his cloak. He huffed and yanked himself free. "I have been!"

"Two short lessons with a bow and arrow barely introduces you to the basics."

"Well, I'm so busy that it's hard to cut out the time," Jaskier muttered. Geralt turned to look at the bard with a slightly raised brow.

Jaskier frowned slightly. "It's true. Vesemir's been having me reorganize the storerooms and clean parts of the keep that haven't been dusted properly in a century at least, I'm guessing."

They approached a frozen stream and Geralt pressed his foot down on its icy surface. It was the dead of winter, so there was no reason why it shouldn't be frozen solid. He just couldn't be too safe when he had a human right behind him.

Jaskier tripped on a rock that was hidden under the snow and fell forward, catching himself on Geralt's shoulder.

A clumsy one, at that.

"Vesemir would let you do less if he knew you wanted to train. Being able to defend yourself is important," he stepped forward when the ice stayed solid underneath his weight. Jaskier followed his lead and they passed over the ice.

"I'm not totally defenseless, Geralt. A friend taught me to use a knife back in my Oxenfurt days and I haven't gone without it since."

"But can you use a sword? Or that bow?"

"No."

Geralt didn't speak again. Instead, he kept walking with a slight quirk to his lips.

"I've protected myself against plenty of drunks and angry spouses so far! I managed to hold off Duke Gorzack after he walked in on me and his wife in Debruska, though it did take a while for that patch of hair he got to grow back. A rather awkward thing to have to explain every time I undressed with a lover."

Geralt frowned.

"I also managed to scare off Lady Apolonia after she found me with her dear Fredrich, who she knew had been sleeping with half the men in Velen since well before their wedding night, anyway. It may not seem like it, dear witcher, but I am quite the warrior when need be."

"Yet you begged me to play bodyguard at Pavetta's betrothal feast."

Jaskier put his hands on his hips. "Would you want to test your luck in Calanthe's court? The whole lot was brutal. Downright bloodthirsty, even. It's a wonder how Ciri turned out so well-tempered and sweet."

"Hmm," Geralt grunted. The witcher stayed silent for a few moments before speaking up again, sounding more serious than before. "You should still know how to wield a sword. We'll likely run into soldiers again."

The bard sighed. "I suppose you're right. It's just that I was completely shite at it as a boy. Instructors shouted endlessly at me because I could never manage to hold a sword right or swing it properly. My father, especially."

Geralt looked back at him, noticing that Jaskier's smile had disappeared.

"We don't train like nobles," Geralt started. "You won't find sticks up our asses."

Jaskier barked out a laugh. "Fine. I'll start training with you then," he looked up at the sky with a smile gracing his face again. "I suppose I'll be the first human in centuries to learn the sacred fighting ways of the witcher. Well, save for Ciri."

"Don't let it go to your head."

The bard grinned. "Would I ever?"

Geralt rolled his eyes. Adjusting the weight of the dead animals on his back, he continued walking up the mountainside with Jaskier close behind.

* * *

"Hah! I win again. That's another two crowns!"

"Not fair, you cheated!"

Ciri quirked a brow with a cocky smirk as she raked in the knucklebones that littered the floor in front of the library's hearth. She and Lambert had been playing for over an hour now, hardly touching the dinners Eskel had set down by their sides. Ciri was enthralled to find the old set in the back of a storeroom she was cleaning earlier; even more so that Lambert had agreed to play.

"Oh really? How?"

Lambert's mouth opened and shut a few times as he tried to find an answer. He slammed a hand down on the floor when he couldn't.

"I don't know, but there's no way you managed to beat me this many times!"

Ciri stuck her lip out in a mock pout. "Are you bitter that a girl beat you?"

"I'm bitter that you cheated, _little_ girl. I'm the best knucklebones player in the Blue Mountains!"

"And I was the best in Cintra," Ciri raised a brow. "Your point?"

"He doesn't have one," Eskel said from his seat on the couch closest to them.

"Fuck off," Lambert spat. His frown sunk deeper when he looked back at Ciri. "What are you staring at, girl?"

"You. We were having a conversation," Ciri crossed her arms. "About how you keep losing, in fact."

Lambert growled. "You're a little shit, you know."

Ciri's smirk grew wider.

"Play nice, cubs," Vesemir said without looking up from the scroll he was reading through as he sat in a chair by the fire. Eskel snorted.

Ciri leaned back and propped herself up on the cool stone floor with her arms. "I believe you owe me 22, no, 24 crowns."

"I'm not paying you that."

"Why? We had a deal: two crowns for every win. And I took every win."

Eskel nodded. "I heard you agree to it, Lamb."

"She's a kid. What would she even do with all of that coin?"

Vesemir looked up from his work for the first time since he sat down. "Whatever she wants. It's her coin."

Lambert was still for a moment. Finally, he scowled and shoved his hand into a pouch hanging from his belt.

"Fucking ridiculous," he muttered and tossed a handful of coins onto the ground in front of the girl. Ciri smirked triumphantly as she gathered them up.

"Another game?" she smiled sweetly at Lambert. His scowl deepened.

"Fuck off."

Ciri turned to Eskel as he stretched out on the couch and placed his arms behind his head.

"How about you, Eskel?"

"Oh no. You're not going to hold me up too, little wolf," he said with a chuckle. "Who taught you to play so well, anyway? Knucklebones is commoners' game, from what I remember."

Ciri's grin faded as she tucked the coin into her pants pocket. "I'd sneak out of the castle to play with other children in the city. Some boys taught me."

Eskel raised a brow. "Your grandmother didn't find out?"

"She did. I just kept going," Ciri said.

"Weren't you afraid of getting kidnapped? Princesses can bring in a lot of coin, if bandits get their hands on them. Or worst," Eskel said. Ciri thought he almost looked concerned.

She shrugged. "I wore a cap and trousers. No one ever seemed to recognize me."

"She's a thief and has no sense of self-preservation. Wonderful," Lambert grunted.

"As if you never risked your neck as a boy," Vesemir said. "I had to chase you out of the caves more times than I could count. Even after a good lashing, you'd still go back."

Ciri's eyes lit up. "What caves?"

"None that you need to know of," Eskel said. "They're filled with beasts that would eat you for dinner or kill you for sport quicker than you could spot them. I'm surprised Lambert lived to see the trials, since he snuck down there so much. Though an alghoul almost got him one time. I spent the first week back for the winter one year with a limp because I had to save his stupid ass."

Ciri wondered what trials Eskel was talking about, but Lambert started talking before she could ask.

"I could get around the monsters without them noticing easily. I was a smart kid, after all," he smirked.

Eskel raised a brow. "Too bad you outgrew that."

Lambert leaned forward and punched his brother, who was laughing loudly when he stood up and swung back. Ciri giggled as she watched them fight.

"You'll break the damn furniture!" Vesemir yelled, though there wasn't much of an edge to his voice.

Ciri ducked when Lambert's foot nearly struck her head. She shuffled closer to Vesemir once their mock-brawl rolled onto the floor. She laughed as Lambert tugged on Eskel's hair, but held back a startled scream when a puff of smoke suddenly erupted over the seat of one of the sofas.

Vesemir jumped from his chair, pulling Ciri up from the ground and shoving her behind him as he did so. He grabbed a knife from his belt and held it at the ready, with Eskel and Lambert stopping their fight and standing up to do the same.

The small cloud of smoke soon disappeared, revealing a sealed scroll sitting on one of the cushions. It hadn't been there before.

"The fuck?" Lambert said.

Eskel slowly approached it. Carefully, he picked it up and broke the violet wax seal holding the rolled parchment together.

"What is it?" Vesemir asked. Eskel handed it over to him when he finished reading it. Ciri couldn't make out what was written from where she stood, since she was still mostly tucked behind Vesemir. But by the brief glance she got of the page, there didn't seem to be much writing on it.

Vesemir rolled the parchment back up and tucked it into his pocket.

"The mage will be here tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat down to start this tonight with hardly any motivation to write, but that quickly changed once I got going! I'm even more surprised I wrote this as quickly as I did bc I had no idea what this chapter was going to look like except for a one sentence idea in my outline. Hope you enjoyed it! I thought we all needed a breath of buffoonery after all that drama. Thanks for the comments and kudos! Till next time :)


	26. The Beginning

A wooden practice sword smacked against something hard and clattered to the courtyard's frozen ground. Geralt sighed when he heard a high-pitched yelp.

"Gah, that hurt!" Jaskier cried out and clutched his shin.

"Stop swinging it so wildly then! And watch how fast you let it drop to your side!" Lambert yelled back. "How many swordsmen do you hear of knocking themselves about with their own blades?"

Jaskier frowned and crossed his arms. "None, but that's because they don't have a crazy witcher swinging at their head!"

"How else are you going to learn?"

Jaskier's scowl deepened. A small figure moved close to Geralt's side and tugged on his sleeve.

"Maybe we should switch partners," Ciri whispered. "I think Jaskier needs someone a bit more... patient."

After watching his brother try to train Jaskier for the last hour, he was inclined to agree.

"I'm plenty patient, girl," Lambert shot back from where he stood in front of the bard.

Ciri raised an eyebrow. "In what sense of the word?"

"Get on the pendulum and find out. I'm happy to wait to see how long it takes for you to fall off."

"I don't fall off."

"Really? How'd you get that hole on your trousers?" Lambert smirked and pointed at her knee. A small tear in the fabric revealed a patch of her pale skin.

Ciri frowned at him. Lambert chuckled and grabbed her shoulder, starting to guide her over to the pendulum.

"C'mon, kid. Geralt can sort out the bard."

Jaskier sent Ciri a sympathetic look as Lambert led her away. It soon melted into something close to frustration. Geralt picked up the sword from the ground and tried handing it to him.

"Here. We'll try again."

Jaskier blew several strands of hair out of his face. "What's the use? It's clear I have no idea how do this, nor will I be much good at it if I somehow figure it out. I should just go dust more or... something."

"You're being too hard on yourself. You've only been at it one morning."

"More like my whole childhood," Jaskier muttered.

"Good thing you're no longer a child, then," Geralt said. When Jaskier didn't smile, let alone acknowledge what he said, he held the sword out further. "Take the blade, Jaskier."

The bard sighed but grabbed the wooden weapon.

"Hold it high enough that you'll have an advantage, but still low enough to maintain control. Like this," Geralt said and raised his own training sword, which he had been using with Ciri before. Jaskier mirrored the motion. "Swing it."

The bard cut through the air with it, lunging a foot forward as it moved. Geralt gently tapped his calf with his own sword.

"You don't need to move your foot out so far. Or at all, if your opponent is near."

"How am I supposed to keep myself steady then?"

"Watch."

Geralt swung the sword effortlessly. Jaskier looked on carefully, and did a decent enough impression of the movement after.

"Better. Now hit me."

Jaskier's eyes went wide. "Hit you?"

"Mhmm."

"That sounds more like a suicide mission than training," Jaskier rolled up his sleeve to show a thin but blossoming bruise on his forearm. "See? Lambert gave me this when I tried striking him earlier."

"I'm not Lambert. Swing your blade."

Jaskier pursed his lips but did as he said. Geralt's own sword blocked the strike easily.

"Again. And watch that foot."

They went on like that until Jaskier was panting for air and dripping with sweat.

"I need... a drink," he gasped and walked a few paces to a pitcher he had brought out that morning. He poured water into a mug with shaky hands and gulped down the drink. "That was... exhausting."

"It won't be after a while."

Jaskier looked at him cautiously. His chest still rose high with each breath. "Why? Wasn't I disgraceful? That was the word Lambert used earlier, I believe."

"No," Geralt shrugged. "You were better than before."

Jaskier shot up an eyebrow. "You're just saying that to make me feel less like shite."

"Since when would I do that?" Geralt deadpanned. Jaskier scoffed through a small smile. "You didn't lunge as much and your grip wasn't as stiff, though it could still use some work."

"That isn't too shabby a start, I suppose," Jaskier started, looking down at his sword. He spoke up again a moment later. "Same time tomorrow?"

Geralt nodded.

"Lovely! I'd better go take a bath. I doubt you witchers and your especially strong snouts would appreciate a smelly bard at supper- Melitele's tits!" Jaskier screamed when a portal ripped open near him, causing him to stumble back into Geralt. The witcher placed a steadying hand on his shoulder as a woman with jet black hair and bright violet eyes stepped through it a moment later.

She immediately hunched over slightly and gasped for breath. Geralt tensed as he watched her.

"Gods, it's just you," Jaskier clutched his chest. "A warning would be nice, you know!"

"Fuck off, bard," Yennefer said as she tried to get her breathing under control. Geralt looked across the courtyard to see Lambert call a blind-folded Ciri down from the pendulum.

"You're early," he grunted.

"There's no point in delaying this," she said and stood up straighter. "Where's your child?"

Geralt nodded toward the girl walking over with Lambert. The mage frowned.

"Is she always in that terrible garb?"

Geralt shrugged. "It's easier for her to train in."

"Not to be a witcher, I hope."

He frowned at that. He wanted to say he was just trying to help Ciri protect herself; that he'd never put her through the hell he had been through, trials or not, but the girl nearing their side cut him off before he could.

"Hi, Yennefer!" she said with a bright smile. The mage's face suddenly softened.

"Hello, Ciri. I assume your witchers have already decided on a place for us to work."

"Vesemir said we could use his office today. I can show you the way!" she nodded, still grinning. Her eagerness was rather adorable, and it made something in Geralt's chest feel fuzzy. He did his best to ignore it.

"After you," Yennefer said with a hint of a smile. It faded when she glanced at Geralt, before turning her back to him. He took a step forward to follow the mage and the girl who was practically bouncing at her side, but stopped when he felt a hand on his arm.

"It's likely best they go alone."

Geralt frowned at Jaskier. "Someone needs to explain what happens when her powers act out. Besides, Ciri barely knows her."

"Ciri is well aware of all that at this point. And you wouldn't think so by looking at them," Jaskier said, nodding toward the girl who was happily chatting with the woman as they walked toward the keep. Geralt was surprised to see Yennefer genuinely smile back at something Ciri said. "Besides, do you think Yennefer would appreciate you there?"

"No."

"Then let them be. They'll probably end up talking about girly things by the end of it, anyway, which is something I know you wouldn't want to be privy to."

Lambert smirked from beside him. "If it's girly things involving that woman, I'd gladly listen in."

Geralt glared at him, finding it hard to hold back the growl in his throat.

"You're a right pig, you know that?" Jaskier frowned. Lambert barked out a laugh.

"What? Anyone with a taste for women would agree with me. The wolf here, especially."

Geralt punched his shoulder. It only made Lambert laugh louder.

* * *

"That staircase leads to where we're going. Sorry it's a bit out of the way," Ciri said as they made their way through another hallway.

"Not surprising for a witcher keep. Especially one as large and decrepit as this," Yennefer added with a slight frown.

"It's not as bad as it looks. A bit drafty, but more lively than you'd think," Ciri smiled.

Yennefer raised a brow. "I've never associated that term with anything remotely involving witchers, save for the bard."

"I suppose you could think that of Vesemir, but Lambert's as loud and brash as they come, when he's not pissed- er, in a foul mood. Eskel can be quiet, but he loves a good story. It's pretty easy to get him laughing, too."

Ciri stepped onto the stairs and listened to Yennefer's heels click against the stone. The sound of a woman's fine shoes clacking as she walked was once insignificant, but after not hearing it for months, Ciri found herself rather captured by it.

"And Geralt?"

Ciri noticed a terse frown that was just obvious enough to notice form on the mage's lips.

"I don't know if lively is the term, but he's not boring," Ciri started. "I don't quite know how to describe it."

Yennefer didn't respond. She was still a bit tense, and a bit out of breath, when they got to the top of the stairs. Ciri tried not to dwell on it. She didn't know Yennefer well, but the woman had made it clear to the witchers that she wasn't one to easily accept help. Or anything that could be taken as pity.

Ciri opened the door and smiled at Vesemir when she saw him rise from his desk. The witcher walked around to its front and gave a curt but not unfriendly nod to Yennefer.

"You're Vesemir, I suspect?" Yennefer asked after she quickly scanned the office with an uninterested glance.

"Aye. Welcome to Kaer Morhen. Apologies for not giving you a proper welcome the first time we met," he said.

"And apologies for my sudden entrance. I'm sure detecting a mage on your grounds was an unpleasant surprise," Yennefer nodded to the glass box on a shelf behind Vesemir's desk, which Ciri remembered glowed whenever someone crossed over the keep's wards. Vesemir shrugged in return.

"If you were any other mage, it might have been. But Geralt has told us a great deal about you."

"I'm guessing that still wasn't much," Yennefer mused.

"It was for him. We're happy to have you helping our young Ciri," he looked over at her. "Maybe your instructing will manage to keep her awake."

"That was only one time..." Ciri muttered, thinking back to the week before. Vesemir had assigned her extra reading for falling asleep during his lecture on types of poisonous berries. He gave Ciri something close to a smile before he looked back at Yennefer.

"No matter. Let me know if you need anything. We don't have much that could be of use to a mage, but don't hesitate to ask."

Yennefer nodded. Vesemir walked across the room and crossed through its threshold, shutting the door behind him. The mage stepped toward his desk and leaned against it. She gestured for Ciri to sit in the chair in front of her.

"To start, tell me everything you know about your powers."

Ciri sat down on the seat and launched into what she could remember, along with what Geralt and Jaskier had told her about the times she had completely blacked out. Yennefer's face remained impassive as Ciri spoke, and she would have seemed disinterested if it wasn't for the way her violet eyes were carefully trained on her.

"And you've never consciously willed any of this yourself?" Yennefer asked once she had finished. Ciri shook her head.

"Not that I can remember. It comes out as a form of self-defense usually, but I never feel in control of it."

"Usually?"

"The most recent time it happened was rather spontaneous. I wasn't in any danger," Ciri said. A thought struck her mind. "Though I had just drank white gull. Eskel mentioned once it wasn't meant for humans."

Yennefer's lips pulled together. "They let you have gull?"

"No!" Ciri quickly said. "I accidentally took a sip from Geralt's mug thinking it was my own."

The mage thrummed her pointed nails against the surface of the aged desk. "Did anything different happen that time? From what you remember?"

Ciri's eyes roamed over Vesemir's bookshelves as she thought back to that night. The memory was hazy, but still more clear than her other outbursts had been, save for when she was escaping the Feathered Knight just after he had stolen her away from Cintra. Something heavy settled in her gut.

"I don't remember exactly, but I said something about the world dying and being reborn during it. Except, it wasn't me saying it. At least that's how it felt."

Yennefer was quiet for a moment. Ciri noticed her jaw tense.

"No wonder you blackout."

"Is that uncommon?" Ciri asked. Yennefer didn't answer right away.

"Not if my suspicion is correct. Give me your hand."

Ciri scooted to the edge of her seat and stretched her hand toward Yennefer, who grasped it with one of her own. The mage closed her eyes, staying silent as they touched.

Ciri didn't feel anything at first, save for how incredibly smooth Yennefer's skin was. But soon she felt a buzzing in Yennefer's fingertips that transferred to her own. The sensation reminded Ciri of the oclemencer Vesemir had made her hold not long after she arrived at Kaer Morhen, though this time, images didn't flash through her mind. Instead, a warmth slowly spread from her hand up the length of her arm.

The heat started to turn into an uncomfortable chill once it reached her elbow. Ciri gasped and broke free of Yennefer's hold, worried the relentless cold that had followed her in the weeks leading up to her last outburst would torment her again.

"Are you alright?" Yennefer asked as Ciri tried to calm her racing heart.

"Yes. I just felt so... cold the last time, and it seemed like that might happen again."

Yennefer raised a brow. "Cold?"

Ciri looked away, nodding slightly. "Do you know what that might mean?"

"No. But it's clear you're brimming with chaos," Yennefer straightened up and walked over to the window behind Vesemir's desk. "I was going to start with some basic exercises, but I think it's best we wait."

Ciri furrowed her brows in confusion and tried to keep the panic out of her voice when she spoke. "Why? I need to get this under control as soon as possible."

"And you need to do it properly," Yennefer said. "I want a second opinion before we start. You have a rare form of chaos - one I'm not very familiar with. A mage I trust can help. She just won't be able to do so before the end of the week."

Ciri felt a little bit better at that. A few days couldn't hurt, she supposed. "We can tell Vesemir about her before you leave."

Yennefer nodded. "That won't be for a little while longer. My own chaos is still recharging," she frowned and flexed her fingers. Her piercing eyes roamed away from the window and scanned over Ciri. "Is that all you have to wear?"

Feeling a bit self conscious, Ciri shifted and glanced down at her clothes. The hole in her knee that Lambert had pointed out earlier felt larger under the mage's gaze.

"No. I have another set of trousers and two dresses. I haven't worn them in a while, though," she shrugged. "They're not very practical to train in."

Yennefer scoffed. "I suppose not. Nor is there much occasion to wear a dress in a keep full of witchers. Still, it might be best to have one on when Tissaia comes. She's quite fond of tradition, wherever it can be salvaged these days," she said, nearly frowning.

"What kingdom does she serve?" Ciri asked. She assumed Tissaia was the mage Yennefer mentioned before.

"She doesn't. She's the rectoress of Aretuza, where mages are trained."

Ciri shifted in her seat again. "Will I have to go there? If I'm a mage, that is."

"Not when it's teeming with druids who are sympathetic to Nilfgaard. Besides, it's stifling there," Yennefer said. "You don't strike me as one to tolerate living entirely under another's rule."

A small smirk tugged at Ciri's lips. She didn't suppose any grandchild of her grandmother's would.

"Did you serve a kingdom? Or is asking about your past still off limits?"

"Depends on what you ask," Yennefer smirked. "I was at the Aedirn court for a time. A boring, squabbling bunch they were."

"Grandmother didn't like them much, either. I never figured out why though," Ciri added.

Yennefer's face grew more serious. "It may have been a court full of daft nobles, but they were rather sympathetic to elves and those who carried even a drop of their blood."

Ciri frowned and looked away from the mage. "I guess that could be it."

Silence settled over the room after that. Ciri was glad when Yennefer was the first to break it.

"How about you? Has the heir to Cintra ventured to any other courts or corners of the continent?"

"Only a few. Grandmother preferred to stay in Cintra, but we would visit Skellige every summer. I loved the beaches there, and the feasts were the best I've ever been to," she smiled. "The people joked and danced like they didn't have a care in the world. And Grandfather would always take me out on the rocks to look at the stars over the ocean before bed."

Ciri's chest tightened at the thought of the moonlight bouncing over the rough waves; even more when she thought of her grandfather pointing out all of the constellations beside it as noise from the feast drifted out over the rocky beach. No matter how entertaining the feasts were, he always insisted on stepping away to look out over the ocean and up at the sky with her.

The memory made her heart both sing and ache.

"Skellige nobles did always make Aedirn more lively when they visited. If only the fish they insisted on trading hadn't stunk up the city." Yennefer frowned and glanced at the fireplace in the corner, where only a few embers still burned. She started moving toward the door. "Come. We can compare notes on courts while you show me around this brutish keep."

Ciri smiled and followed Yennefer. She debated on where she should lead the woman first. The library was her favorite spot, but she remembered Yennefer spending time in there when she first visited.

Well, if she could call that a visit.

As Yennefer launched into a subpar review of the Redanian court, Ciri began guiding them toward a landing not far from her room. She discovered a breathtaking view of the mountains there only a week or two after arriving.

Eskel had said the best way to get accustomed to Kaer Morhen's ancient walls was to look out beyond them. Ciri didn't quite agree. Nothing had quite matched the evenings she spent unwinding with the witchers and Jaskier in front of a warm heath. But for Yennefer, it seemed like a good place to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for your support! Things have been a bit wild lately, but I'm hoping to get the next chapter out soon! Till next time :)


	27. The Rectoress

Geralt glanced through a small stone window as he walked down the corridor. A blanket of streaming snow blocked out any light except for the white glare of a storm raging outside the keep.

He was going to have Ciri continue their work on deflecting blows after breakfast, but the sudden blizzard that rolled in over the mountains while they slept had put that idea on hold. It was no matter though. Ciri picked up his instructions far quicker than he would have expected - a day off wouldn't hurt her progress.

Looking back, it seemed like she had done better than any boy he'd trained beside, himself included. She moved on the pendulum as if it were just a dance and was rarely knocked off of it anymore. She was quick with her sword and struck his own with notable precision. He hadn't expected her to take in as much as she already had, and even more, it was clear that she was eager to learn as much as she could.

Geralt supposed it made sense. Calanthe was an accomplished warrior - her granddaughter was bound to have inherited some of that skill. And with an entire continent after Ciri, the girl had cause to become an even better one.

He stared out at the storm as he walked down the hall toward Ciri's room. She was supposed to be down at breakfast nearly a half hour ago. Even if the whipping winds and stinging snow postponed their training, it was no excuse for a lay in only halfway through the week.

Geralt figured it would be best to spend their day fixing up a better space for her and Yennefer to practice in. Vesemir's office was perfectly suitable for hosting a lecture, but he doubted the older witcher's collection of ancient texts would survive an accidental or experimental burst of magic from Ciri.

He approached her door and rapt his knuckles against the wood. The sound of blankets rustling and a sleeping form starting to stir rumbled inside, yet the room soon grew quiet again. He tried knocking once more.

"Ciri?"

A muffled groan rang out this time, but he didn't sense the girl make any effort to get up. Sighing, he pushed the door open and walked over to the bed. Geralt set a napkin-wrapped bundle of bread and jerky on Ciri's bedside table and nudged her shoulder.

"C'mon. Sunrise was nearly an hour ago."

The girl didn't bother to move or open her eyes when she mumbled out a response. "I saw snow. Figured we couldn't train."

"Doesn't mean you don't have chores to do."

Another groan. Geralt sat down on the chair near her bed.

"Jaskier's been a bad influence on you," he sighed.

"No," Ciri grumbled into her pillow. " 'S just that anyone in their right mind should sleep through this weather."

"Hmm. Too bad you have help me prepare a place for you to train with Yennefer."

She groggily rolled over to look at him with sleep-misted eyes. "Where?"

"Down one of the wings we don't use," Geralt said. It was where recruits had been trained to use signs years ago, and was warded to hold up against damage from their limited and untrained magic. "It should be able to survive whatever your chaos decides to throw at it."

"Do you think I'll cause damage?" she asked. A glint appeared in her eye, but Geralt could tell it wasn't an excited one.

"Maybe. Eskel nearly toppled over part of the stables when he was still learning to use signs. A young mage would have more chaos to control than us."

Ciri shifted. "You think I'm a mage?"

"I don't know," he added, not quite sure how to answer the girl. "I can't imagine what else you might be. I was too busy studying monsters to learn much about chaos."

He watched as she brought a hand to her mouth to cover a wide yawn. Geralt stood when he thought he saw her eyelids start to droop again.

"Get dressed and eat your breakfast," he nodded toward the food he left on the table. "Knock on my door when you're ready. And don't fall back asleep. You'll get extra sets on the pendulum tomorrow if you do."

Ciri huffed and fully sat up, pouting at the white blur streaking by her window. Geralt saw her shiver slightly in the cool air as he turned to leave.

He grabbed his whetstone once he got back to his room and ran it over a knife until he heard Ciri's light knocks. She was stifling another yawn when he opened the door, which shrieked with several others as loud gusts of wind slammed against the keep. Ciri tugged a heavy woolen vest Eskel had finished patching together for her last week tighter around her torso. It was grubby looking and hung lower than it likely should, but was better than nothing in the chilly keep.

She reluctantly following him as he started walking down the hall. A loud snore rumbled out from Jaskier's room as they passed by it.

"Jaskier gets to sleep in..." she muttered.

"You're not a middle-aged bard."

"Consider it my new ambition then."

Geralt rolled his eyes. "How long do we have until Yennefer and her friend arrive?"

"She said they would be here before lunch. I wonder what Tissaia is like. Did you ever meet her?"

He shook his head.

"Well, I hope she's as interesting as Yennefer," the girl started. "Did you know Yennefer has fought off monsters too? She said she even faced a dragon once! I had no idea they actually existed."

Geralt's chest clenched. "What did she say about that?"

"Not much, just that it was a golden one being hunted. And that it was the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen. That's why she didn't kill it. She said men tried to hunt it, so it had to stay hidden," Ciri frowned. She looked up at a set of blades hanging from a wall as they approached the main staircase. "I don't blame it."

"Hmm."

"Did she ever tell you that story?"

He kept his face as impassive as he could. "Might have once."

"That's good. She said not to share the tale with anyone, to protect the dragon by keeping it a secret. I don't suppose it counts if you've already heard it, though," she turned her head to look up at him. "Promise you won't tell it to anyone?"

Geralt didn't need to be asked. "Promise."

Ciri seemed satisfied with that. He was relieved the girl didn't ask if he knew more details or, gods forbid, ever saw one of the beasts for himself.

Geralt stopped at a supply closet where they kept fresh rags and equipment for cleaning. He passed a handful of the cloth off to Ciri and two brooms they would need to sweep the floor. He hadn't been in the room for years, and by the way Vesemir stressed that it would likely need a good dusting, Geralt figured the other witchers hadn't either.

"How long do you think this will take?" she asked once they started walking again and he had taken the brooms from her.

"I don't know. Why?"

"I have to change before they get here. Yennefer said I should wear a dress," she sighed.

Geralt quirked a brow at that. "You don't like dresses?"

Ciri shrugged. "Have you ever tried to do a cartwheel in a skirt?"

"Haven't tried to do a cartwheel at all."

Ciri stopped walking. "What? Even as a boy?"

"Even as a boy," he echoed.

She gave him an equally disbelieving and suspicious look. "We're going to have to fix that."

"I don't think I'm built for doing flips," he chuckled. She didn't seem dissuaded.

"Nonsense. You're obviously athletic enough. You just have to try."

He tried to imagine himself doing one. It was safe to say the thought didn't come naturally.

"Ciri-"

"How about this," she cut him off with a sly grin. "If I clean a half of the room quicker, I get to teach you how to do a cartwheel."

"And if I'm faster?"

She paused to think for a moment. "I'll clean up Roach's dung for a week."

He smiled confidently at the girl. The energy of an Axii was already buzzing in his fingers.

"Witchers are quick, you know."

"Maybe. Though I imagine not being able to use signs would slow your cleaning down quite a bit."

He frowned. "You didn't say I couldn't."

"That's why I'm saying it now. It's only fair, unless you want me to try using chaos before Yennefer gets here," she said.

His frown deepened while hers only grin grew wider. He stayed quiet as they approached the hallway that led to the room.

"Fine," he finally said. "You should borrow Jaskier's fancy soaps for your clothes. Roach's shit wreaks."

Ciri rolled her eyes and spoke with her chin tilted high. "Cockiness isn't very becoming of you. Especially since you're going to lose."

Geralt snorted out a quiet laugh.

"Ever Calanthe's granddaughter."

A deeper cold washed over them as they turned down the hallway. Snow and wind swirled in from a large hole in the wall and part of the floor. Ciri wrapped her arms around herself and peered around him to get a better look at the blizzard.

"I figured this whole section of the keep was condemned," she said.

"Just this part," he grimaced, remembering how he found her here with Lambert on their first full day at Kaer Morhen. His brother had kept her from tumbling into the snowy, desecrate courtyard below.

Geralt placed a hand on her back to guide her away from the weak floor once they were closer to it.

"I remember seeing swords laying in the snow out there," she said slowly. "What happened?"

"There was an ambush on the keep. A mob attacked and killed every witcher and recruit in it," Geralt grunted.

"What? Why?" Ciri asked, her wide eyes looking up at him.

His jaw tightened. "They didn't like that we were different."

The girl frowned as she considered what he said. It wasn't the first time they'd had this kind of conversation.

"That's terrible. You didn't know any of the witchers here then, did you?" Ciri asked, a hint of desperation crawling into her voice.

Geralt nodded. A somber quiet fell over the hall and he kept his eyes trained on the doorways ahead. After a moment, a small hand wrapped around his own.

"I'm so sorry, Geralt."

He simply shrugged back, though not before giving her hand a faint squeeze.

"It's in the past," he said. Ciri's gaze settled back on the crumbled stone opening and the snow that blew in through it.

"I wouldn't have thought humans could do this much damage to a keep guarded by witchers," she said.

"They didn't. It was mostly druids and mages."

Ciri dropped her hand from his.

"Mages?"

The sudden fear that flashed across her face concerned him. He stopped walking and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"They weren't in the same circles as Yennefer. Most of them probably haven't been north in years," he said, trying to calm her. She pursed her lips and nodded before walking forward once more.

"How much farther until we reach the room?"

He stepped forward, soon falling instep beside her. "It's behind that door."

They were both quiet as they continued down the hall. Geralt pushed the heavy door and held it open for Ciri. Her lips quirked into a small smile when they entered, the fear he had seen before seemingly gone.

"I call this side," the girl said, setting the equipment down. She shoved a pile of rags at him and quickly grabbed a broom from his hand.

Geralt rolled his eyes and moved to the other side of the room, taking a quick glance around it. The heavy smell of dust and waste from mice filled his nose. Vesemir was right: the room, though sturdy enough, was clearly in need of a good clean.

He just hoped Ciri wouldn't be too disappointed on her way to the stables later.

* * *

Ciri sprinted down the hallway with her skirt bunched up in her hands and a hastily done braid flying behind her.

She hoped the green dress was tied up in the back properly, and that she would be presentable enough for the new mage. She had stopped to chat with Jaskier on their way back to the supply closet with two brooms and filthy rags still in hand when Eskel approached them to say Yennefer and Tissaia had arrived early.

Seeing that a fair amount of dust had settled onto her clothes and hair, she had hurried to her room to tidy up.

"Ciri!" Geralt called out from behind her. She stopped and turned around to look at the still-dust covered witcher standing at the foot of the staircase she had just raced down. "Slow down, there's no need to rush."

"Eskel said they're already here," she said, catching her breath. "Don't want to be late."

He started walking forward at a slower pace. She dropped her skirt and followed him once he was close. "I'm sure the others are keeping them occupied. Vesemir just brought them to the room," he nodded toward a nearby hallway.

Ciri trotted along next to him, flattening her slightly crumpled skirt with her hands and pulling at her sleeves that felt slightly too short. If this woman cared about what she wore, who knew if she would be keen to point out any imperfections, too. The ladies at court always did, even if it was whispered behind dainty hands when they thought she couldn't hear. Ciri had tried to brush their criticisms off as easily as her grandmother did, but they did wear down on her nerves.

"Don't worry. You look fine," Geralt said, looking down at her. "That color suits you."

A faint smile appeared on her face. It faltered a when they turned the corner.

Once again, they approached the gaping hole in the hallway she had avoided since arriving. The decaying stone and crumbling floor had been cause enough. Now that she knew the horrible story behind it's existence, she felt even less enthralled to be passing through the freezing air that never failed to cloud that part of the keep.

She thought back to what Geralt had said earlier about the mages who attacked the witchers. Ciri had never thought of those who could do magic to be bad. Mousesack was kind to everyone he met, and Yennefer appeared to genuinely like her, even if that feeling didn't seem to extend to anyone else in the keep. But as her grandmother had taught her, there were exceptions to every rule.

Mages had punished the witchers simply for existing; the same reason why her grandmother had killed so many elves. If she truly was a mage as Geralt had guessed, that would mean she came from yet another line that sowed pain through prejudice.

It made her gut churn with guilt.

"Are you alright?" Geralt asked. She took a deep breath and tried to relax her expression.

"Yes. In fact, I'm quite excited to see you do a cartwheel once the storm stops," she smirked.

Geralt frowned. "I shouldn't have let you win."

"Let me win? I won fairly! You're just a sore loser."

"Hmm. I'll get you back then."

"Doubt it," Ciri said confidently as Geralt opened the door to the room. She felt a sharp but still painless tug on her braid as she passed through the door's threshold. Ciri whipped around to find Geralt wearing a sly smirk.

"You're a menace!" she laughed.

"That he is."

The sound of Yennefer's voice echoed off the walls of the room. The mage looked on at them with an plain expression, but the bright reflection of the room's candlelight made something Ciri couldn't name dance inside her violet eyes.

"Yenn," Geralt nodded, his smirk disappearing. Ciri watched his eyes fall on the stern-looking woman next to Yennefer.

She wore a stiff blue dress that had even stiffer sleeves and a high collar wrapped around her neck. Her posture was as perfect as her tightly pulled-back bun, and her piercing eyes were as intense as the confident way she held herself. Ciri felt like she was being analyzed from the tip of her head to the bottom of her soul. Even the ladies in Cintra's court would likely falter under this woman's critical gaze.

"Sorry for being late," Ciri offered the woman. "I had to change after cleaning all morning."

"Hopefully not as a punishment. I don't tolerate unruly students," the woman said, glancing at Yennefer. The violet-eyed mage rolled her eyes.

Ciri felt nerves run down her limbs as Vesemir stepped forward. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so uncomfortable, even though he probably wouldn't appear so to those who didn't know him.

"This is Cirilla, Madame de Vries," he started. "And Geralt of Rivia."

"Pleasure to meet you," Ciri said and gave a curt courtesy. Geralt simply nodded.

"I've heard much about you, Cirilla. Especially your powers. They seem quite extraordinary, according to Yennefer's judgement."

"Do you doubt that?" Geralt asked. Yennefer stiffened beside the mage.

"I'm not inclined to. But like every girl who shows an aptitude for honing in chaos, only proper training can reveal what true abilities she might possess."

"Tissaia wants to start with a test," Yennefer said and outstretched a hand. "Come here, Ciri."

She looked up at Geralt, who nodded, and took a hesitant step forward.

"You can take a seat over there while we work," Tissaia said to the witchers. Her eyes darted to a bench in the corner, missing the glare Yennefer sent her way before turning it on the witchers. Geralt, specifically.

Ciri held down a laugh. She never would have imagined that someone would have the guts to tell Vesemir what to do in his own keep, as if he were the guest. Or that he would so quickly follow their instructions without protest.

Tissaia made a small table appear. A rough stone sat next to a delicate flower as they both rested on the surface.

"Have you ever attempted to conjure your chaos intentionally?" she asked. Ciri shook her head. "No matter. We'll see if you are capable of doing so with these. Pick up the flower."

Pushing down her nerves, Ciri grasped the daisy and held it as carefully as she could. Tissaia stepped closer to her side.

"Nothing in this world comes from nothing. That is why you contain chaos inside of you. For every incantation you utter, a part of your chaos is drained until it replenishes itself. Thus, learning to channel it correctly is where your true power lies," Tissaia's eyes darted to the rock. "Your first task will be levitating that stone. Envision life draining from the flower as you say the incantation _Za'el Aep_."

Ciri took a deep breath and stared at the stone, trying her best to imagine the petals and stem starting to wilt. She urged her voice to sound steady when she spoke.

"Za'el Aep."

The stone didn't move nor the flower die, but she did feel a sharp jolt of something close to buzzing run through her fingers. Furrowing her brows in further concentration, she raised a hand and tried again.

"Za'el Aep!"

The flower suddenly became a dried, wilted crisp of what it once was, and the stone floated high in the air. Tissaia's expression hadn't moved in the slightest, though Yennefer sent her a proud grin. She smiled widely back.

"Imagine the stone lowering slowly," Tissaia said. 

The stone wobbled a bit as it moved back down to the table's surface. Ciri watched with a singing excitement dancing in her chest as Tissaia vanished the table and its contents. Still grinning, she looked over at Geralt, even happier to find a small smile sitting on his lips and crinkling the corner of his eyes.

"You succeeded at that much more swiftly than some of the other mages I've trained," Tissaia said, glancing at Yennefer. Once again, violet eyes rolled to the side. "But the real challenge comes next. You will need to completely clear your mind of any thought. That way, chaos will be able to freely run through your mind and, by extension, your body."

"What will that accomplish?" Vesemir asked gruffly.

Tissaia glanced at him without moving. "That is what we aim to discover. Focus your eyes on mine, Cirilla, and grasp my hand."

Ciri wrapped her fingers around the woman's outstretched hand, surprised by how cold it felt against her palm. Tissaia's stare was daunting at first. Her intensely blue eyes were both piercing and critical, making it difficult trying to free her mind of any thought that slid into it. Ciri did her best to calm her breathing and relax her body. As Geralt had taught her during their few meditation lessons, that was the first step to clearing the mind.

Eventually, Tissaia's gaze was all she could see. Her mind was as empty as the room around her, save for its occupants and specks of dust they just couldn't get rid of. Suddenly, an odd sensation was tugging at the front of her forehead, almost as if something was asking her permission to enter her thoughts.

Ciri was apprehensive at first. The feeling was foreign, though what hadn't been since Cintra fell. Slowly, and not understanding why it felt so second nature, she opened her mind to let the sensation inside.

A rush of whispers danced in her ears and smoke filled her nose. Soldiers marched along a desolate road. A woman's body lay crumpled on the ground, ash falling from a fiery night sky around her. A body slammed against a tall stone wall, adding a faint cracking sound to a cascade of terrible, horrible screams.

Ciri faintly recognized that she was trembling. Her knees felt like they were about to buckle under the weight of the horrible storm of images in her head. She thought she heard a man call out for Tissaia to stop, but a woman's voice quickly silenced him. Ciri wasn't sure of what she said. She was too busy begging the mayhem inside her mind to stop.

The firestorm soon faded away, leaving a grand room in its place. Or what Ciri assumed was one; she could only make out a sliver of the room from where it showed behind a man in silver armor. Slowly, the man removed his helmet and set it on the ground. Instead of hair, Ciri saw long needles sticking out from his head and beady, black eyes staring down a rodent-like snout. She had never seen anything like it, nor the way his image morphed into that of a handsome, dark-haired man.

She felt like the air was knocked out of her chest when an ashen blonde woman stepped beside him. The vision was ripped away from her before she could get a better look at the her face, but her only glimpse felt like a passing glance in a mirror.

"That's enough!"

A large figure moved in between her and Tissaia, breaking their connection. Ciri fell to her knees and gasped for air. Her shaky arms and sweaty hands were the only things keeping her from becoming sprawled-out heap on the cold stone floor.

Stars danced in her eyes while air slowly returned to her lungs. A large hand landed on her back, while another held her shoulder.

"You shouldn't have done that," she heard Tissaia say coolly. A low growl hummed beside her.

"She was distraught," Geralt spat, his grip on her tightening.

"Breaking a connection that strong could have caused the girl unspeakable damage. If I thought she was truly in danger, I would have stepped in," Tissaia countered.

Yennefer moved forward, distracting Ciri from the glare Geralt was sending the older mage.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Ciri nodded. At least she thought she was. Other than the slight tremors running through her and the fear clutching her chest, nothing truly felt wrong.

"Can we take a break?" she asked with a voice that sounded as dry as her throat felt.

"Of course," Yennefer said gently. The woman conjured a cup and handed it to Ciri. She pressed it against her lips, tipping it back enough so that chilled water ran down her throat. It helped the few stars that still danced in her vision to finally fade away.

"Can you stand to move over to the bench?" Geralt asked. With a short nod, she stood on still slightly trembling legs and slowly moved over to the seat. Geralt was by her side with each step. He sat down beside her once she slumped onto the bench, his eyes not moving away from her for a moment.

"What happened?" Ciri asked.

Tissaia shared a knowing look with Yennefer before speaking. "I temporarily linked our chaos together to see if it would trigger anything unusual, and reveal what your power is capable of. It did. You are a source, Cirilla."

Her gut tightened. "A what?"

"You don't just contain chaos, you are the ultimate vessel for it," Tissaia continued. "Sources foresee the future, or at least the future the world is most likely to face in a particular moment. The prophecy you just shared was a shining example."

Ciri looked up at Geralt, noticing for the first time how pale his face had become, then shot her eyes back on Tissaia. "I don't remember saying anything."

"Most sources wouldn't. But we all heard it clearly," Tissaia said.

"The era of the sword and axe is nigh, the era of the wolf's blizzard," Yennefer recited. "The Time of the White Chill and the White Light."

A harsh shudder ran through Ciri's body.

"What does all of this mean?" Vesemir asked, his stern eyes trained carefully on the mages.

"You're assumptions are as good as mine when it comes to the prophecy," Tissaia said. "Did you see anything during our link, Cirilla?"

She thought back to the images that had flashed through her head. "Soldiers marching. A lot of fire and screaming. And a woman- her body was laying on the ground as a battle happened around her. There was too much smoke for me to make out her face, though it seemed like she was in a courtyard, of sorts. And there was a man," she paused.

"A man?" Yennefer asked.

"He was in a castle, I think. But he wasn't really a man at first. He looked more like an animal. Needles stuck out of his head like a porcupine, but they faded away as he morphed into man. A woman was with him, too. She looked like me."

Geralt stiffened beside her. Yennefer seemed to notice.

"What is it Geralt?"

"Pavetta and Duny," he started. Ciri's heartbeat picked up at the mention of her parent's names. "I met them at your mother's betrothal feast. Jaskier asked me to come so I could protect him from court members who weren't fond of him. During it, Duny demanded your mother's hand. Even though he had been cursed to appear as a beast, they were in love. You could probably imagine your grandmother's reaction to his request."

Ciri's brows furrowed. This was the first time she'd heard anything about the feast, let alone the details of her parent's betrothal.

"I stepped in before Calanthe could kill him. He insisted on repaying me for saving him," Geralt added.

"Is that when you claimed the Law of Surprise?" Ciri asked, the question striking her. Geralt's silence was answer enough. "But that was in the past. What about the rest of what I saw?"

She saw something solemn tug at Geralt's expression. "I was in Cintra the night it fell, trying to find you. All I came across was your grandmother laying in the courtyard after the castle had been overrun by Nilfgaard. She was-"

"Dead," Ciri finished for him. Water welled in her eyes at the horrible thought. She did her best to hide it, but a tear slipped down her cheek. Geralt's hand gently wrapped around one of her own.

"All of that happened in the past," Vesemir said. His arms were crossed against his chest and his stare was focused on Tissaia. "You said sources saw the future."

"It could be a vision from the past," Tissaia said. "A source's purpose lies in foretelling what is to come; something that would be impossible to do without understanding history."

"How do I stop the visions then?" Ciri asked.

"You can't. Your gift is as much a part of you as the memories and thoughts wired into your mind. All you can do is learn to control it," Tissaia said. "Otherwise, it will destroy you."

Ciri's heart dropped into her gut. She held onto Geralt's hand as if her life depended on it.

Yennefer stepped forward. "Judging by the way you so easily levitated the stone, you've already shown that you're capable of producing magic like any other mage. That's a good sign."

"Your chaos, however, is on an incredibly thin strand. One more outburst could kill you and others even, if it is triggered properly," Tissaia said.

Vesemir shifted from where he stood. "By what?"

"At this point, anything that could be perceived as a threat, whether it be known or subconsiece. A spell from an enemy, or even a swinging blade from an ally. The mind works in mysterious ways," Tissaia locked eyes with Ciri. While still piercing, the woman's gaze wasn't quite as stony as when they had first started. "That is why you must not only learn to control your chaos, but also your emotions. A calm reaction in the face of any danger could mean life or death."

Ciri took a deep breath. The weight of Tissaia's words terrified her to her core, and the solemn stares from the adults around her didn't make that weight feel any less burdensome. They had all mastered their abilities, while hers remained untamed and and an ever-looming threat.

"We can start training tomorrow," Yennefer offered, clearly sensing her distress. Ciri gave her a weak smile in return before turning to Geralt.

"Would you mind if I went to my room to rest? I still feel a bit faint."

He nodded. "I'll walk you there."

Ciri didn't protest. After all, she didn't feel like she had any words left to speak - they were all busy racing about her mind in panicked sentences she could barely make out.

Without looking back at the mages, Ciri stood and walked to the door with Geralt at her side.

Ciri's fear felt like it was rotting a hole in her stomach as they walked back toward the staircase. She thought she would feel better once she knew exactly what her powers were. Now that she did, she wanted to rip them from her body and run as far away from their remnants as she could.

Even if they could be controlled with practice and time, her special form of chaos was still volatile and terrifying. It had repeatedly forced her to look back at the worst parts of her life: Cintra burning, the Feathered Knight chasing after her, and, now, the parents she could barely remember.

She just wanted it all to stop.

Her frustration and fear lingered while they walked, making her chest feel so tight that she thought she might suffocate. But just when Ciri felt so overwhelmed that she might burst, a gentle squeeze from a rough hand wrapped around her palm reminded her to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write for some reason, so I'm very glad it's finally done lol. Hope you all enjoyed! Comments and kudos always appreciated!


	28. The Stunt

Dark shadows flickered on the floor beneath Ciri's feet as she walked.

Only a few of the iron torches that were bolted to the wall were lit, and it was the first time Ciri could recall the large golden chandeliers above her head being completely dark. Even more strange was the steady stream of clouds that flowed out alongside each breath that left her lips.

Her body wasn't chilled, nor were the ends of her fingers or the tip of her nose. Yet the few flickers of light from the torches danced against patches of frost that trailed down the walls around her and disappeared under the crunching snow beneath her feet.

Ciri turned a familiar corner. The coating of ice on a pair of grand doors made them nearly unrecognizable, but the golden lion heads in the center of each side stuck out from under the ice, almost as if they were trying to force their way through it.

The doors were ajar just enough for Ciri to slip into the Great Hall. Tapestries that were woven with scenes of Cintra's greatest battles hung from the walls just as Ciri had remembered. But like everything else in the room, they were distorted by a layer of frost that glistened in the moonlight pouring in from a row of large windows.

Ciri's eye caught something moving near the throne at the front of the room. Her heart swelled when she saw a dark-haired woman staring back at her with a golden crown on her head and a faint smile on her lips.

Several tears ran down Ciri's cheeks as she lurched forward into a sprint. She threw her arms around her grandmother's waist and held on as tightly as she could. She felt an arm wrap around her back and a hand run down her hair as the achingly familiar scent of smoke and holly filled her nose.

"I've missed you," Ciri breathed.

"And I you, Cirilla. You're just in time."

Ciri lifted her head from her grandmother's chest to stare up at her.

"For what?"

Before she could receive an answer, the doors she had just entered through loudly creaked open. Hulking figures who were clad in the most intimidating armor Ciri had ever seen stormed into the room. Dozens walked toward the throne, stopping only to move aside for another armored man who towered over them. His face was completely hidden beneath a helmet so ornate that even the Feathered Knight's paled in comparison.

A bolt of terror shot through her.

Ciri eyed the door that was adjacent to the throne. "This way," she said with a shaky voice and tugged on her grandmother's arm. She nearly tripped when the older woman didn't move.

"Grandmother!" she tried again. "We need to leave!"

Calanthe stayed rooted in her spot, staring down the massive man as he slowly stalked toward them. A tiny grin crept onto her face.

"We have the power to win."

Ciri's heart sank into her stomach when the man pulled a long blade from his back. She gripped her grandmother's arm tighter each time the man stepped forward. She wanted to run from the room as fast as she could, but she couldn't leave her grandmother to face these terrifying men alone.

The man stopped in front of them and raised his sword high above his head. Ciri's palms were covered in sweat as she gripped the cool satin sleeves of her grandmother's dress. Quickly, she lifted a hand and released as much of her chaos as she could manage.

She was yanked from the scene before she could see what happened next.

Ciri woke with a gasp as her panicked chest sucked in the cold night air. A sheen of sweat covered her face, despite the fire being down to nothing more than a few dim embers in the hearth across from her bed, and the heavy pelts hugging her body felt suffocating. She threw them off of her and swung her feet over the edge of the bed to sit up and catch her breath.

She stayed like that for a minute or two at least. When the walls around her still felt too close to her for comfort, she stood on shaky legs, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and left the room.

Ciri closed the door to her room with a quiet click. The floor was frigid against her feet but she didn't care. She just wanted to get her mind off of whatever had just happened in her dream. And get her breathing back under control.

Padding quietly down the hallway past Geralt and Jaskier's rooms, Ciri turned up a staircase that led to a small section of the third floor. Most of the area was decrepit and dust-ridden after years of going unused, but one window with an impressive view of the mountains had a ledge large enough for her to sit on.

She climbed up onto the perch, ignoring the dust that quickly caught onto the skirt of her nightgown, and watched as a few snowflakes slowly started to drift down from small patches of clouds in the sky. They were large and fluffy — the very kind that were best for catching on a dark scarf to examine their designs. They soon disappeared, leaving a starry sky staring down at her.

Ciri stretched her fingers. The buzzing she felt during yesterday's lesson with Tissaia and Yennefer was back, though it wasn't nearly as strong as it was then. Nor how strong it had been when chaos burst from her in her dream.

"It's a little late for star gazing."

Ciri whipped her head around to find Eskel standing beside her. She shrugged and looked back at the blanket of moonlight sprawling over the mountains.

"I don't know. It's dark enough for it."

"And for you to be asleep."

"You're not," she countered. He chucked at that.

"No, I'm not. I'm also not a human girl who has training in the morning."

She shrugged again. "I'll be fine. I've gone with less sleep before."

Eskel raised a brow. He took another step forward.

"You come up here often?"

"No. I just had trouble sleeping tonight," she said. The witcher stayed quiet but didn't move to leave. She tucked up her legs so he could sit across from her.

"Me too," he finally said, taking the seat.

"You're a witcher. You don't need that much sleep."

"Doesn't mean I don't want it when I can get it," he said. "Besides, it's not like anyone else is up to bother, except for you."

She scoffed. "I'm not sure I'll be much entertainment. I was just star gazing, as you said."

"That's entertainment enough. I used to come up here at night a lot when I was young. Woke up here a few times, too."

"Has it always been a popular spot for tireless witchers?"

"Probably. It definitely was for me. This view was one of the few things that could take my mind off of particularly bad nightmares," his eyes flickered up at the moon, its reflection soon dancing in his golden irises. "Still is."

Ciri swallowed down a lump in her throat she hadn't fully realized was there. She cleared her throat and stared back out at the mountains.

"It is really pretty. I didn't get to see mountains much before now," she said.

"They never get old, no matter where you are," he leaned forward and pointed to the tallest mountain Ciri could see. "That one there, Mount Roehnig, takes two weeks to climb to get to the top. You wouldn't think so by looking at it, but the trail up it is worse than the one that leads here."

"Do people live there?"

Eskel shook his head. "Vesemir said elves did centuries before witchers were in Kaer Morhen. As far as I know, this is the only inhabited mountain for miles. But the others are beautiful from the top. I used to climb one each time I got back from the path, if winter hadn't set in too deeply yet.

"I've never been on a mountain's peak," Ciri said, gazing out the window. "I'd like to see one some day."

"Maybe come spring we'll take you to one. I'm sure you could use a change of scenery after being holed up in this keep all winter."

"It hasn't been bad," she smiled softly. "It's much better than running about the continent."

"And getting chased by wolves in the forest," Eskel smirked. Ciri snorted quietly. "Though I guess it's good that you did. Who knows if you would have found Yennefer otherwise."

Ciri nodded, still looking out of the window.

"He didn't care too much for her friend, but Vesemir said Yennefer seems like she'll be a good instructor for you."

"Mhmm," Ciri hummed as her mind drifted back to her first lesson and the visions that had taken hold of her mind. She could faintly make out her reflection in the window's frosted glass, but she didn't quite catch the way her lips start to fall into a small frown. Eskel watched her carefully.

"Do you disagree?

"What? No, she seems great," she said, turning back to face him.

"Good," Eskel nodded. "I never liked my teachers as a boy, besides Vesemir. He was the only one who had any patience for me."

She raised a brow. "Why wouldn't they? You're so pleasant."

"I was quite the troublemaker back then, actually," he smiled.

"I'd believe that if it were coming from Lambert."

He laughed. "It's true. I'd do anything to get out of sitting through lessons. Even if stuffing an instructor's books with frog guts landed me scrubbing up horse dung in the stables for a week."

"That's horrible," Ciri giggled. Her lips pulled into a sly grin. "I should have thought of that back in Cintra. My tutors would have fled the kingdom if they found guts in their books. Though even a frog by their foot might have still done the trick."

"Gods, I wished that trick had the same effect on Vesemir. He'd just scoop them out and cuff me," he chuckled.

"My grandmother would have done the same if I ever did that to her. Nothing phased her," Ciri smiled softly. "I don't think she was ever scared of anything."

Eskel glanced at her briefly before looking out the window once more. "I'm sure that wasn't true. Everyone fears something, even if some are better at hiding it than others."

"Maybe," she shrugged. "Though witchers don't seem easy to spook."

He laughed at that. "You'd be surprised. I'd tell you what scares Lambert, but he'd try to skin me if I did. As for me, I'm terrified of heights."

She furrowed her eyebrows together. "Then why do you like going to the peaks of mountains? That sounds like the very place you'd want to avoid."

"Confronting your fears can make them less daunting," he said. "At least that's what I've found to be true for myself."

Ciri pulled at the sleeve of her nightgown. She didn't look up when she spoke.

"That's good," she nodded.

Her eyes flickered up at the sky, then at the mountains standing below them. Even though they towered over every being in the continent, Ciri guessed they were nothing but tiny specks to the stars that flew above.

"See anything interesting?" he asked. Ciri pursed her lips in concentration as she scanned the darkness.

"I think that's Arnek's Belt near that crooked looking mountain over there," she pointed out.

"You sure that's not the Goblin Foot?"

"Goblin Foot?" Ciri asked incredulously. "There's no constellation named that."

"Sure there is. It starts off wide, and the part that bends looks like it has toes on it," Eskel explained.

She tried to think of which constellation he was talking about. "You mean the Jagged Crescent?" she said after a moment.

"I haven't heard of that one."

"Maybe we were taught different names for them," she mused.

"I wouldn't be surprised. You had far fancier tutors than me. Here," he shifted closer so she could get a better look at where he was pointing. "What do you call that one there with all the points?"

"Poinsecja."

"Interesting. I call it Thorn Bush. And that one that looks like a sword?"

"The King's Blade."

He paused, looking pleasantly surprised. "That's what I was taught too. Maybe my instructors were fancier than I thought," he laughed. "Won't Vesemir be excited to find out."

* * *

Geralt crossed his arms and glared at the stone wall across the courtyard from him.

"This is fucking ridiculous."

"Oh come on, Wolf! Show us your lovely little flip!" Lambert yelled as Eskel and Jaskier laughed beside him. Even Vesemir was donning a small grin.

He turned to face Ciri. "An audience wasn't part of the bet."

"It didn't prohibit one, either," she shrugged. "Besides, I couldn't make them leave even if I wanted to."

"Ciri-" he started. Eskel didn't let him finish his thought.

"Let's go, Geralt. Just one quick... what's it called again?"

"Cartwheel," Jaskier supplied.

"Right, that," Eskel chuckled. "Just one quick cartwheel and you'll be all done, mate!"

Geralt glared at the trio with all of his might. Jaskier snorted into his hand while Eskel and Lambert grinned back.

"Come on!" Ciri said impatiently. "I won't be able to go to the gardens with Jaskier and Eskel before sundown if you make my sword lesson run late, and we haven't even started it yet."

He took a deep breath and stretched his fingers. "Show me how to do it again," he muttered.

Ciri rolled her eyes but held up her arms.

"It's simple. Just turn to the side and try to keep your legs straight while they're in the air," she said as she bent down toward the ground and put all of her weight onto her hands, flipping over swiftly and landing on her feet with a soft thud.

"Mhmm."

"Hurry up, old man!" Lambert called out.

Geralt sent another glare their way before he steeled himself and copied Ciri's form, swinging himself over and doing his best not to let his legs fall as he held himself up. The stunt, thankfully, was over nearly as soon as it started.

Jaskier clapped as Eskel and Lambert laughed next to him. He felt his cheeks start to grow warm, but the noise of the men faded away from his mind when he saw the wide grin on Ciri's face.

"That was good! A bit crooked, but not a bad start," she smiled.

"Yours was still better."

"I'd hope so. I've been doing them for years, after all. But don't worry, you'll get better with time."

The barely noticeable smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth quickly vanished. "Better with time? Ciri, I'm not doing that a-"

His sentence was cut off by a hearty slap on his back.

"That wasn't so hard, was it, Wolf?" Lambert grinned beside him. Eskel stopped next to his other side. "You almost made flopping like a fish look easy!"

"Fuck off," Geralt grunted.

"If it looks so easy, why don't you try?" Ciri said, taking a step closer to the younger witcher and smiling up at him.

Lambert dropped his hand from Geralt's shoulder. "Nice try, girl, but I plan on staying right side up. Your whining isn't going to change that."

"I don't whine!" Ciri frowned.

Lambert snorted. "Right, not at all. C'mon Eskel, let's go before she convinces you to look as ridiculous as Geralt just did."

Geralt crossed his arms and stared at Eskel. The scarred witcher just chuckled and followed Lambert and Vesemir back into the keep. Another pair of footsteps stopped beside him.

"I thought you were lovely. A right acrobat, even," Jaskier smiled.

Geralt shook his head and sighed. "Pick up your blade, Ciri."

She quickly grabbed the wooden sword from where she had unceremoniously dropped it on the ground earlier. Geralt did the same.

"Are you going to join us, Jaskier?" Ciri asked.

"Not today, sweetling. I gave myself a rather nasty cut on my sparring hand when I was peeling potatoes earlier. Best let it heal a bit," Jaskier said, rubbing his hand. Geralt frowned.

"Let me see it," he took a step forward. Jaskier put a hand up to stop him, a small smile on his face.

"It's really nothing serious, Geralt. Just focus on trying to block Ciri's increasingly impressive attacks."

"Hmm," he grunted, sparing the bard's hand another glance.

"Geralt," Ciri huffed. He turned back to face her, raising his sword.

"Maybe Lambert was right about you whining," he said, a barely visible grin on his face. Ciri rolled her eyes and copied his stance.

They stalked each other for a moment, as he had taught her to do whenever she was cornered or didn't have a clear path to strike an opponent. She suddenly jolted forward and swung her sword down toward his side, which he easily blocked. She tried stabbing at his gut, then nicking his leg, but was stopped by his blade each time.

He went on like that for a while, letting Ciri strike at him until a small trail of sweat formed on her brow. She was quick and accurate, and didn't slow even when her breathing became more labored.

At one point, he twisted around her and tried to tap the side of her calf. She spun around and stopped him before the wood could tap her leg, locking her blade with his and knocking it aside. She forced him to keep turning as she tried to slash at his back, then to walk backwards as she stepped forward with each time her sword crashed against his.

Ciri must have missed the patch of ice in front of her, since her leg wobbled and she nearly tipped over when she took another step closer to him. Her sword swung clumsily in the air as she tried to catch herself. The opening gave Geralt a chance to strike her side. He raise his sword and started to move it down toward the girl. At the same time, a voice that sounded like Tissaia's suddenly flowed through his mind.

_...even a swinging blade from an ally._

Geralt felt his chest constrict. He slowed the sword to stop just above Ciri's side, then quickly pulled it away from her. She looked up at him with confusion pulling at her brow. He didn't give her enough time to question his hesitation.

"Be more aware of your surroundings," he grunted, trying to calm his pounding heart. "Again."

Ciri frowned but did as he said, trying to strike him wherever she could. He blocked each blow effortlessly, though he was careful to not slow at all. The girl was getting faster. She had even come close to tapping him with her blade a handful of times in the past few weeks, not that she knew it. He didn't want her to grow cocky — he had seen enough soldiers' egos lead them to a sloppy misstep and a sudden death.

Geralt kept dodging and blocking Ciri's swings as the sun settled lower in the sky. But while the girl did her best to land her blade against his side, he didn't try to swing at her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the bit of a delay, life's been super busy lately and I had a brief spell of writer's panic after the last chapter. love it when I start to hate everything I write, but we're past it lol. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, especially the scene between Ciri and Eskel and Geralt's new dad panic (as someone put it in the comments lol), so more should hopefully be coming soon! thank you for your comments, kudos and hits - they keep me motivated to finish this! the fact that we're almost at 10,000 views (and 100,000 words) has me shook. Thank you, thank you, thank you!


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